


Vantage Point

by Aggie2011



Series: Vantage Point Universe [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aggie2011/pseuds/Aggie2011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after the Loki incident, Clint isn't adjusting well. When an enemy from his days in the Army comes back to haunt him, he'll be forced to face a part of his past - and to move past Loki, if he has a hope of finding his place with the Avengers. (First of a universe created to center around Clint Barton)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Only A Man

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except for Cole Williams. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
> 
> This story was my first foray into fanfiction and it launched a large - and getting larger - universe centered around Clint Barton. I was urged by several readers to start posting here as well, so here I am. I'll be posting all of my completed works on this site one by one in the same order I originally posted them on a similar site. 
> 
> A few things to know - I post one chapter a day until a story is complete. And once this site is caught up with my other one, it's good to know I don't start posting until I've finished the story. 
> 
> Lastly, this story IS going to be rewritten at some point and adjusted to fit how I've grown as a writer since I started, but for now, I still love it and want to share :) So enjoy!

_"A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles." -Christopher Reeve_

 

* * *

Clint Barton saw things better from a distance. He thrived on watching the world march on from a perch high above everything and everyone. Isolation was key to a sniper's survival, but even before his Army days, he liked to be high above, to be separated. It was only when he was up in his perches,  _nests_  according to Tasha, that he felt safe.

_Though,_ he considered, _he was safe with her, no matter where he was, Tasha was safety to him…Coulson had been that way too, even before her, but he was dead…_

Clint stopped his train of thought abruptly. It still hurt too much to think about his lost friend, lost  _brother_. He still had nightmares about Coulson's death. Despite Natasha and Fury strongly advising him not to, he'd watched the video footage of Phil's death. His brave  _stupid_  handler, who had done what no one else was around to do and paid the ultimate price for it. Clint knew he would never forgive himself for not being there when his friend needed him, that he hadn't returned the favor his handler had granted him so many times in the 9 years they'd worked together. Nothing would ever compare to the pain of finally beating Loki only to get back to their safehouse after Schwarma and have Natasha sit him down and tell him Phil was dead.

_Well, nothing except losing her._

Clint sighed deeply, his grey-blue eyes tracking multiple targets from his perch at the top of Stark towers. Tony had graciously allowed the entire team; sans Thor, whom they hadn't heard from since he went back to Asgard with Loki, something told Clint the big man was keeping an eye on them though; to move into his newly renovated tower.

Clint hadn't unpacked yet.

In fact, he only ever went into his room when Tasha talked/forced him into it. When he wanted solitude, which was most of the time, he came up to the roof. And so far, no had ever disturbed him, either because they didn't know where he was or because they didn't notice he was gone. Either way, as long as he was left alone, he didn't care.

Though he  _knew_  Tasha knew exactly where he was. She'd been tracking his whereabouts with near obsession ever since Loki. He tried not to be offended.

Phil never would have let him to himself for this long, knew how self destructive Clint's psyche was. Natasha knew too, and had ventured up a few times to sit with him. They would talk quietly in Russian so no one could eavesdrop. But they never talked about Phil, they never talked about Loki, and they never talked about the crushing guilt that was so close to breaking him.

But Natasha knew him, just like Phil. She knew he wasn't ready to let it go. To stop punishing himself and as much as Natasha was his other half in heart and soul, she wasn't Phil. She wasn't the smart ass, no nonsense adoptive brother that wouldn't take shit from him, yet took it all the time. She wouldn't push him until she had too, until Clint left her no other choice. Phil had always pushed, and needled, and sometimes just  _sat_  there silently until Clint was forced to deal with whatever it was just to regain his solitude.

_Shit, he missed him. Missed him so much it_ **_hurt_ ** _._

It had been six months since SHEILD had brought together their merry band of misfit heroes. It seemed that every bad guy with a bone to pick had come out of the wood work since that day Hulk, and it was  _mostly_  the green giant's fault, had destroyed a colossal part of downtown Manhattan. They fought together, building up the reputation of the Avengers as a global force for good, but Clint was still an outsider. By his own doing perhaps, but it was more than that. He hadn't been there, not in the beginning. When the Avengers came together, he was busy being mind-raped by Loki and fighting against them, trying to  _kill_ them. He hadn't been there until they'd already become a team, uniting in vengeance for Coulson's death. By that point he'd just been a long for the ride, so royally pissed off that he didn't care who he was fighting with as long as Loki went down.

But then the dust had settled and Loki was finally gone and he'd felt like an intruder. He wasn't one of them, not really. He was a shadow in the rafters, a ghost in the halls, the Hawk in the sky. He was always watching, always observing and never interacting. He'd always reveled in the disconnection of being a marksman. He had never relied on anyone but himself. He'd been done relying on anyone when his brother left him bleeding and broken on the muddy ground outside the prop tent at the circus. Phil had convinced him of his loyalty, and then he'd convinced Natasha, beyond that he had never had a desire to let anyone in, anyone close. But now, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something wrong with him. If his social wiring was skewed because of that fateful day all those years ago when the one person he'd always counted on had proven a traitor.

He'd been a lone wolf his entire life after that, then Coulson had found him, pulled him up by his bootstraps from the gutters of his life, and made him the youngest SHEILD agent in history. The man had bled with him and protected him in a way even Barney never had. They'd formed a bond of trust after only six months and for the first time in since his awful painful childhood Clint wasn't alone.

Then he'd been sent for Natasha. When she'd asked him, in Budapest as they waited for a long since needed extraction, what he'd seen in her that made him disobey orders, he'd just smiled at her warmly and said he saw things no one else did.

Their trust had been slower in forming. She'd been burned as many times as he had. It was Vietnam that changed their relationship, two years after they'd been partnered, three after he'd brought her in. Only they knew the details of that mission, not even Coulson, their trusted handler, was granted the full story. But when they'd returned to the states, it was obvious that their trust in each other was complete and unwavering.

His trust in those two, now one, closest friends, had been hard won through blood, sweat, and pain. None of the others, Tony, Steve, Bruce or even the absent Thor, none of them had earned what Natasha had, what  _Coulson_  had. He'd asked Tasha if she trusted them. She said she was getting there, that she trusted that Clint had her back, just in case. He'd been shocked and a little jealous when she'd admitted she was already letting them in. It had taken him two years, it took them six months. When she'd noticed his reaction, she'd smiled warmly at him.

" _Its because of you that I can do that, before you I didn't even know what trust was."_

She had surprised him, taking to the team with eagerness after so many years of a solo operative, only partnered with him now on rare occasions. They were so highly effective alone, it was a waste to use them on the same mission unless it was absolutely warranted. That was one positive to this new gig. He'd missed having her around all the time.

She'd tried coaxing Clint into the fold a few times, to pull him into the light hearted banter of the team. But he remained distant. Protecting himself in the only way he'd ever known how, isolation. They were all good men, he knew it, Coulson had assured him of it when his handler had approached him with the offer to get involved with the Avengers Initiative. But he'd survived his younger years by trusting no one, and the years that followed by trusting very few. It was a hard habit of survival to break. You couldn't get hurt if no one was close enough to hurt you.

Natasha said he wasn't trying. She may be right, given that they were all eating dinner together right now and he was on the roof, alone, watching a world that didn't know they were being watched. It was better this way, he assured himself. For them and him. He was the weakest link among them, though he was loathe to admit it. Loki had made that irrefutably obvious. It was better to keep his distance.

Besides, Clint saw things better from a distance, he always had.

 

* * *

Natasha Romanoff was silent as she listened to Tony throw barb after barb at Steve, trying to bate the American hero into breaking from his calm demeanor. Growing bored, her thoughts drifted to her partner. He was on the roof right now, probably watching the world in silent contemplation. Not interacting, never interacting. Clint Barton had only ever interacted once, and she knew she was alive because of it.

She wished he would make more of an effort to integrate himself into the team. But he was a loner by nature, even more so than she. She was a true agent of espionage, trained to be social and manipulative. It was her power over others. Clint was trained to be invisible, and he was damn good at it. His survival depended on not being seen, whether he was the guy you jogged past in the park, or the waiter at your favorite bar, or the bumbling Polish tourist who needed a German/Polish dictionary to communicate and three maps to navigate. As much as she was a master at making herself noticed and memorable, he was a master at being overlooked and easily forgotten. Because then when the bullet impacted your skull on your daily jog, or the poison slipped into the drink you ordered every Tuesday night, or the bullet cracked through the window of the safe house  _no one_ was supposed to know about, you didn't remember a jogger, or a waiter, or a lost tourist, you didn't remember anything because you were dead. And your killer had been so unremarkable that you hadn't thought to mention him to anyone. It was such an ingrained habit to stay unnoticed, that she knew Clint would never willingly break from that.

And to make the situation even worse, she knew his guilt over the Loki incident still ate at him. It wasn't his fault, all the men eating with her now had said so multiple times. But Clint didn't let go of his burdens that easily, he hadn't for the six years she'd known him. On top of that, he blamed himself for Coulson. He'd never said it out loud, but she knew. She'd almost begged him not to watch the video footage, but he was so stubborn, just like her. All it did was give him something tangible to torture himself with. After that, in the few times he'd actually slept long enough to dream over the last six months, he'd woken screaming his dead friend's name. She would put her hand on his bare shoulder offering silent support until his trembling stopped and reality returned. He wouldn't say anything but a mumbled "My fault." or an "I'm so sorry." Before he was climbing out of bed and heading to the range to punish himself with training. She wasn't a comforter or a nurturer by any stretch of the imagination, but she hated that she didn't know what to say to him in those moments when he was consumed by despair. He was drowning, and the only man that ever knew how to save him was gone forever.

"She's not even listening…Hey Romanoff!"

Natasha looked sharply at Tony, realizing he'd been speaking to her. It had been established early on that  _only_  Clint could call her by her first name or by any derivative of it. It was the same with Clint's name. Names were too personal, too precious, to allow just anyone to use it. When you spent as much time protecting your identity as they did, you didn't share that privilege lightly. So she was Romanoff to them, and Clint was Barton.

"What?" She asked blandly.

"I  _said_ ," Tony sighed as if he were extremely put out at having to repeat himself. "Why is our feathered friend so disinclined to join us… _again_."

"Clint is still  _adjusting_." She told them delicately.

"What's his deal? Jarvis tells me the guy sits in the same position on the roof for  _hours_  at a time. Just staring down at the city."

"He sees better from a distance." Natasha smiled slightly, remembering Clint telling her the same thing when she questioned why he was always climbing things, why he always wanted to be high above everything and everyone.

"Is he still blaming himself for Loki?" Steve asked looking at her squarely.

Natasha gave him a look that said the answer was obvious.

"Its more than that, though, isn't it…more than Loki, more than Coulson." Bruce spoke up quietly. Natasha looked at him sharply, unwilling to divulge any of Clint's secrets.

"Adjusting, like I said." She replied stiffly.

"If he doesn't give us a chance to earn his trust, how will we ever be able to?" Steve questioned quietly, giving Natasha a look full of compassion and understanding. She was surprised he'd figured the situation out so easily.  _But_ , she realized,  _he was a soldier, America's best at that…he had to be good at reading situations_ ** _and_** _people. Clint was like that too._

"He just needs time." Natasha replied softly.

"He's had six months." Came Tony's caustic reply. "And except for when SHEILD sends you two out on your super secret missions you won't talk about,"

" _Can't_ " Natasha interjected sharply, only to be ignored as Tony continued.

"We've been fighting  _together_  for those six months…that trust thing goes both ways…by not giving us a chance to gain his, he isn't really gaining ours either." The physicist pointed out bluntly.

"It took him and me  _two_  years to really trust each other." Natasha replied in a hard tone. None of them could ever understand what hers and Clint's lives had been like, how few people they'd ever truly trusted. Or how many times they'd trusted and been betrayed. Now one of those few was gone forever and she knew that was part of the problem.

"Well you both have serious emotional problems." Tony replied with a frown.

"And what did you do in the meantime?" Steve's calm voice was a balm on Natasha's rising temper as she glared at Tony.

"I watched his back and he watched mine." Her dark eyes grew distant as she remembered the missions she and Clint had been on together. "The trust came with time." She still remembered Vietnam like it was yesterday.

"Time isn't a luxury we necessarily have, given the nature of our job here." Bruce spoke again, his tone quiet and reasonable.

"Jolly Green Giant is right." Tony crossed his arms over his chest, careful not to hide anyone's view of his arc reactor. "He's the one we're  _trusting_  to watch over us from on high every day, what if one day he just doesn't think we count as part of his team?"

Natasha's eyes flashed dangerously, her hand tightening around her fork.

"Clint will do his job. He would  _never_  let anything get in the way of that."

"Never? Really? Then how are you here?" Tony shot back.

She was halfway out of her seat when Steve's voice stopped her.

"No one was questioning his dedication, Agent Romanoff." He placated gently.

"I was." Tony refuted, his tone rising. "How are we supposed to trust him to watch our backs if he can't even stand to be in the same room as us…hell, he didn't even come to Coulson's funeral! What kind of dedication is that?"

Natasha slammed her fork onto the table, making the plates and glasses jump. Bruce flinched and Steve sighed. Tony's eyes just widened a little in surprise. She braced her hands on the wood and leaned over so she was barely a foot from Tony's face.

"He watched from 1000 meters away through a scope. Clint sees things better from a distance…he  _needs_ the distance…whatever you think Coulson was to  _you_ …he was more to Clint." She stood angrily. "Agent Coulson was the  _first_  and  _only_  person he ever trusted with his life before he met me. Coulson  _saved_ him…and if it wasn't for him, Clint would probably be working for the highest bidder right now…and he knows that. He owed Coulson  _everything_  and now he's  _gone_ and Clint wasn't…" She stopped abruptly, realizing suddenly that in her defense of her partner, she'd revealed too much. She didn't usually speak before thinking, but Clint had always had a way of getting by her defenses and pushing her to be different,  _better_ , than she was. He wasn't even in the room and he was doing it.

"Barton wasn't there." Steve finished quietly, realization in his tone. He'd wondered too, though more quietly than Tony, why their Hawk hadn't been at the funeral. It made sense now. He'd seen the camaraderie between the two agents in the weeks he'd been with SHEILD before Loki. The normally withdrawn, aloof, Hawkeye smiled with the older man, sought him out in a room. Coulson's normally calm, cool visage always broke into an easy grin when the younger agent was there. The trust had been palpable.

"Maybe I should talk to him…" Steve suggested. He knew what it felt like to lose a relationship like that. Thoughts of Bucky's death still caused a sharp pain in his heart.

"He needs time." Natasha refused firmly.

"He's had six months." Tony reminded stiffly.

"A lifetime wouldn't be enough." Steve replied sadly, his eyes haunted. Tony quieted at the look in their leader's eyes. Steve turned his eyes to Natasha. "Is that why he doesn't join us? Because of Couslon? Because he doesn't trust us?"

"It's most of it…you have to understand…Clint isn't like you, any of you…he's a  _covert_  assassin  _specializing_  in distance kills…he's hardwired to keep his distance for his own safety, to be invisible. If he doesn't want to break from that, he won't." She tried to explain, keeping her voice calm and collected all traces of anger hidden.

"And he doesn't want to?" Bruce sighed, not really asking, already knowing.

Natasha shook her head.

Steve spoke before anybody else could.

"Tell him we have his back…whether he chooses to trust in that or not."

She nodded and left the room.

"You could be more sensitive, Tony." Steve reprimanded quietly.

"We've all lost people, and trust doesn't come easy to any of us." Tony's voice had a hard edge to it. Bruce frowned.

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't respect his grief or his space."

"It's more than grief! He doesn't want to be here! It's  _obvious **!**_ The man hasn't spoken two words to any of us outside of the heat of battle. He's not a team player and doesn't want to be."

"You've read his file, Stark." Steve challenged, his eyebrow arched, "None of us have been through anything close to what he has, or what Natasha has…The only team he's ever been part of was cut in half when Coulson died. Fury told me the man doesn't even trust  _him_  and he's in charge of the whole damn operation."

"To be fair, none of us trust Fury." Tony interjected. Steve frowned.

"The  _point_  is that none of us could ever understand how his mind works...Romanoff was right, he's wired differently than us, even than her…he's trained to be a loner, in many ways she is too…She's is trying though, that counts for something…If anyone can get Barton to become part of the team, it'll be her."

"Besides…you weren't quite a team player when this all started." Bruce gave Tony a long look.

"I'm adjusting to the idea." Tony growled. "All I'm saying is I don't think I trust  _him_  either."

 

* * *

Natasha didn't say anything as she easily lowered herself to sit next to him on the ledge. She didn't share his great affinity for heights, but they didn't bother her. So the precarious perch didn't phase her. Wordlessly she held out a sandwich. His lips twitched into small smile of thanks and she couldn't help but smile slightly in response.

She stared at his profile, watching him methodically chew. He did everything methodically. No wasted movements, no misspent energy, from the way he strung his bow to the way he fought hand to hand. He'd told her once, in Budapest, that Coulson had taught him that.

Right now, he looked exhausted, dark shadows ghosted under his eyes. His normally tan skin was pale, making old scars stand out too sharply. She was worried about him. He wasn't adjusting. To the team or to loosing Coulson.

With a sigh, she reached over to entwine her fingers with his free hand. It wasn't something they did often, show physical affection where prying eyes could see. But she was learning that sometimes it was needed. When he didn't protest, she knew she'd made the right call.

Natasha looked back out over the city, thinking about everything that had happened. So much had changed in the last six months. Even she was a little surprised at how happy she was with most of those changes. Just yesterday, she'd had a moment where she had been able to forget who she used to be. She'd been so happy, she'd whispered excitedly about it late into the night. She hadn't thought about Clint's mood much until later, after he'd left to train in the wee hours of the morning, after waking from yet another nightmare.

" _She held me_ ** _so_** _tightly. She trusted me to protect her and I did…I saved that little girl and it felt so good…and for a minute I forgot about everything else…you know?" Natasha whispered excitedly, tilting her head up on his chest to look at his face._

_Clint hummed an affirmative response, his fingers tracking gently through her hair, she felt like purring, it felt so good. He had a pensive look in his eyes, but a small smile quirked his lips. It was the smile that caught her attention, it was far too rare these days._

" _What?" She asked, wondering about the small smile. His fingers trailed over her bare shoulder before he responded._

" _You're happy." He observed bemusedly._

" _Aren't you?"_

" _In this moment, I am." He answered confidently._

" _This moment?" She questioned curiously._

" _Isn't that all we can really ask for?" He smiled at her before letting his hands dance out of sight and she didn't notice the latent sadness in his eyes as she giggled and let him roll her over._

"What's wrong?" She ventured eventually, it was time to deal with this, whether he liked it or not.

"Hmm?" He barely took his eyes off the setting sun, his sandwich long since finished.

"You aren't happy here…why?" Blunt was her nature and she knew he both hated and loved it.

"I'm happy." He refuted quietly.

"In this moment?" She challenged, her tone hardening. She heard him sigh.

"What do you want me to do?" He asked tiredly.

"Just try."

"I am trying." Even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. Judging by the narrowing of her eyes, she knew it too.

"No you're not. You hide up here for  _hours_ , sneak down for food and then sneak back up before anybody can even notice you're around."

"I'm not hiding." Clint defended sharply.

"Yes you are." Natasha disagreed bluntly. "You're hiding from what's happened."

"Trust me, Nat, there is no hiding from what happened…if there was, I'd be all over that." He laughed a sad little laugh that broke her heart a little.

"You don't have to deal with it alone." She reminded, squeezing the hand she still held in hers.

"But I am alone, Nat." Clint frowned at her. In a fit of hurt anger, she ripped her hand out of his.

" _That_  is a hell of a thing for you to say to me…after  _everything_  we've been through."

Clint's grey eyes showed more life than she'd see in months as he turned to argue further.

"But that's just it! What happened with Loki…that was me, just me…none of you were there and none of you could ever understand what it felt like to have no control over  _anything_  you said or did."

"You said you didn't remember anything." Her voice got low in her anger.

"I lied."

With a huff, Natasha stood and paced away for a moment.

"I can't just let it go, Nat…I can't…" He added more quietly, staring back over the horizon. If he'd been watching her, he'd have seen her shoulders heave in a sigh.

"No one's asking you to." She replied in an equal tone, moving to sit with him again.

"I killed so many people Tasha, fellow agents…I  _tried_ to kill you and all of them," He gestured towards the tower. "So now I'm just supposed to jump on the bandwagon with a bunch of guys I tried to  _kill_? I'm sure they're all just  _overjoyed_  about that."

"Nobody blames you." She insisted.  _You do enough of that yourself_. She added silently.

He didn't reply to that, just sighed deeply, watching the sun set behind a skyscraper.

"You're not alone…not while I'm here." She whispered quietly, but firmly.  _Like we promised in Vietnam._  She added silently.

"I know…it's just that this…all of this…is hard…when I came to SHEILD, I felt for the first time like I was wear I belonged…now they look at me like I'm an enemy…I don't fit there anymore, and I don't fit here…"

"You could if you wanted to." She replied with an arched eyebrow. "And you were cleared of any responsibility for what happened…you're not an enemy."

"Tell that to the friends of the people I killed."

"They can go to hell." She spat. "It was not your fault." She felt like a broken record.

He just shook his head in the same self depreciating way he always had when he blamed himself for something. He'd never held himself in high enough regard in her opinion.

"You will  _always_  be one of SHIELD's best agents," She started quietly, "What happened, was unfortunate, but it could have happened to anyone, me, Fury,  _Coulson_ …"

"But it happened to me." He reminded softly, his tone broken. Had anyone else been present, he never would have allowed such emotion to color his tone, but it was just her, and with her he didn't pretend, and neither did she.

"Yes it did." She conceded, grasping his hand once more, she idly traced her fingers over the light scars on his knuckles. "And you are the strongest person I know, Barton, you always have been. That's why I know you'll find a way to get through this."

"How can you be so sure?" He asked, his stormy eyes watching her fingers trace the old scars.

"Because I need you to get through this…and you've never let me down."

He raised his eyes to hers, searching her dark orbs.

"I  _need_  you Clint…or none of what I'm building here matters…without you nothing matters."

"Why is this team so important to you?" He asked quietly, taking her words to heart.

"I did the solo act for a long time…then I met you and you taught me how to be part of a team…then Fury split us up and now I have a chance to be part of a team again…be part of something great. It's a chance to right some old wrongs."

"We already had a team, Nat. Whether we did every assignment together or not, we were a team¸ you, me and Coulson. "

Natasha sighed. She missed Coulson too, but he had wanted this for them, she was sure of it.

"He wanted you on  _this_  team. He read you in on it before Fury even sent me under with Stark. He wanted you to be part of this."

"Why? What makes me so important to this team. I'm human, Tasha,  _just_  human…that point is painfully obvious."

"Why? Because Loki ambushed you in a  _secure_  lab and used  _magic_  to take over your mind? Tell me exactly how you could have stopped that, how you could have done anything differently?" She demanded, her tone unyielding.

He stayed silent, staring out into the darkening sky.

"And you wanna know why you're important?" She continued in a more gentle tone. "Because no one sees things like you do…you see the whole picture and not just when we're in a fight…Coulson saw that in you and bred it until you were a tactical genius. He knew you'd be a vital part to this team…you see things no one else does, remember?" She smiled a little, nudging his shoulder.

Clint was silent staring darkly out into the sky.

"If you want to walk away, I'll go with you." She offered quietly, sincerely.

His eyes snapped to hers. He wanted so badly to accept. But that was selfish, so selfish. She wanted this and he had never been good about denying her what she wanted. He couldn't take this from her, not when she was finally learning how to be happy.

"I want to go." He stated honestly, but went on before she could reply, "But I'll stay, if you want to, I'll stay with you Tasha."

Her eyes softened.

"I don't want you to be unhappy, мой ястреб. Not for me, not for anyone."

Clint couldn't help but smile at the Russian endearment.  _My Hawk._  He was hers, had been since Vietnam. Her protector, her lover, her friend and confidant, hers to protect, hers to trust. Her Hawk.

"I'd do anything for you, Tasha… _anything_ …We'll stay."

"Are you sure?"

"No…but you are…and that's been enough for me for a long time now…I'll figure my shit out eventually…I just need you to give me time…and not give up on me."

" _Never_." She promised fiercely. "As long as you promise not to give up on yourself."

She forced him to meet her eyes and watched the battle take place behind is stormy gaze. He was already halfway there, she knew. Which is why he needed to promise.

"I promise, Мой пламенный паук." He smiled, using his nickname for her.  _My fiery spider._

She grinned. They would get through this, somehow.


	2. I Can't Stand To Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except for Cole Williams. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
> 
> Here's chapter two! Hope you enjoy! :)

 

_True heroism is remarkably sober, very undramatic. It is not the urge to surpass all others at whatever cost, but the urge to serve others at whatever cost._

**_Arthur Ashe_ **

* * *

Hawkeye shifted his bow onto his back, his grey blue eyes already intensely focused on the job at hand. He was getting dropped off on the roof of a tall apartment complex, the vantage point of his choosing. It had easy access to other roofs if he needed to switch positions and he could see everything.

Jarvis had woken them up early, announcing a pre-dawn swarm of  _robots_  that were marching through Brooklyn and headed for the bridge. Clint had already been awake, Tasha snuggled into his side. They'd frowned at each other when the attackers had been identified as robots. It was hard to kill something that wasn't alive.

"You're up Hawk." Captain America announced from his place in the cockpit, pulling Hawkeye out of his reverie. He stood, moving to the thick nylon rope rigged to the floor of the quinjet. Tasha was suddenly next to him; her deft hands helping him lock the rope into the rigging on his belt.

"Стреляй метко, мой сокол." She instructed firmly.  _Shoot straight, my Hawk._

"Всегда." _Always_. He promised, glancing over her shoulder as the bay door opened, revealing the still dark morning sky."Береги себя, мой огненный паук.."

He added as he slipped around her and backed towards the opening. He gave her a smirk, slipped on his night vision goggles, turned, and ran for the dark sky. He spread his arms like the hawk he was named for and dove into the open air.

_Be safe, my fiery spider._

"Навечно." She whispered after he was gone. She returned to her seat as the bay door closed.

"He does that without a suit with built in jet propulsers." Bruce pointed out to Stark, who rolled his eyes and slid his face mask down. "What language was that?" He asked Natasha. "Russian?"

He wasn't surprised when she didn't even acknowledge him.

" _Boots down. Moving into position."_ Hawkeye's disembodied voice came clearly through all their earwigs.

Natasha silently released the breath she didn't know she'd been holding and prepared herself for the fight ahead. They all listened for Hawkeye's report as the leader piloted towards a large roof to land on.

" _Multiple bogies…headed north on Washington…street lights are mostly out, so make sure you're night vision is working…"_

"What's your approximation?" Captain America asked as he landed.

" _North side of a hundred…they're definitely robots…."_  There was a pause, followed by the distinctive "twang" of an arrow being loosed, and then Hawkeye was back,  _"Armor is weak at the neck."_

Natasha smirked.

"Let's go." Captain America announced, powering down the jet. "Hawkeye, we're on our way."

* * *

Watching their troops march from a nearby location, two men stared at a large TV screen, small gratified smirks on their faces.

"They are magnificent aren't they?" The taller of the two smiled, his dark eyes taking in the scene of his robots' destruction with glee.

The other man's expression was darker as he watched.

"There!" He announced suddenly, as a black arrow pierced the neck of one of the robots and it fell immediately, its power cord severed. He keyed a transmitter on the console to his left. "South squadron, track the source of the arrows…find me the shooter."

The scientist who had created the robots sent him a curious look.

"Who is it?"

The other man frowned and ignored him.

_You're mine now, Hawkeye._

* * *

Captain America took a moment to breathe and glance around to check his team. Iron Man was flying around expertly, blasting robots left and right. Black Widow was running around with all the grace of a deadly panther, stabbing robots in the neck to short out their power system. The information Hawkeye had gleaned before they were even on the scene had proved highly accurate and very effective. Hulk wasn't bothering with the necks. He was just smashing them to bits. The Captain had found his shield very effective in decapitating the robots. And then there was the ever present flow of black arrows, every one hitting its mark with deadly precision. Captain glanced to where he knew Hawkeye was perched; suddenly inordinately glad the archer was on their side.

A metallic whine alerted him to the presence behind him. But even as he turned an arrow passed less than an inch from his face and buried itself in the robot behind him. He threw a quick two fingered salute of gratitude towards where he knew the archer was hidden, then dove back into the fray.

Hawkeye smirked a little at the Captains salute and returned the gesture, despite knowing the man couldn't see him. His eyes tracked each team member with nearly inhuman speed. Covering their backs in the same way he'd covered the Captain. The robots were thinning, slowly, but they were thinning. He notched another arrow and let it fly.

* * *

"They've got a lock." The Scientist announced, moving aside so his comrade could see the view screen showing a live video feed from one of the drones. A young man, dressed in black, wielding a bow like a modern day Robin Hood, was dead center. He was perched high above the battle, able to see nearly everything from his vantage point.

"Send up a flash grenade first…get rid of his night vision!" The man ordered.

* * *

Iron Man saw it out of the corner of his eye. A single cylindrical object flying towards Hawkeye's position.

"Hawkeye!" He shouted the warning just as the flash grenade exploded in a single burst of bright white light. Jarvis automatically shielded his eyes with the suit, but the curse over their comms told him the Hawk hadn't been so lucky.

"God dammit!" Hawkeye shouted ripping his night vision goggle from his face and squeezing his eyes closed.

" _Hawkeye, status?"_  the Widow demanded over comms.

"Flash grenade, I can't fucking see!" He snapped, forcing his eyes open and blinking at the black sky, everything was just a compilation of dark blurs.

* * *

"Fire!" The mysterious man ordered from his command center. With the Hawk's most valuable asset temporarily out of commission, this was his only chance to catch him unaware.

* * *

Natasha saw it happening. Once second the crowd of drones in the back was pushing their way forward and the next their guns were trained upwards, right at  _her_  Hawk.

"Clint!" She shouted in warning, just as the robots opened fire.

" _Jarvis, track Hawkeye."_  Tony snapped over the comms.

" _Falling, sir."_

* * *

Clint was just starting to be able to discern the fight below him when Natasha's panicked voice cut through the comms and the concrete he was perched on started exploding around him. Sharp, fiery pain ripped through his calf and he'd been shot enough times to know it was a bullet causing the problem.

"Shit!" He yelled, trying to scramble out of the line of fire. Bullets continued to bombard he roof and concrete shards were launched like tiny projectiles, forcing him to cover his face as he moved. The bullet that caught the ledge next to his foot was enough to send him back a step, into thin air.

To his credit, he didn't panic as he started to 'd been in this situation far too many times to even scream. Instead he reached back and shifted his automated quiver. He yanked out his grappling arrow and strung it as calmly as he could as the stories started flying past him. He loosed it. When it caught his fall came to a jarring, painful stop and he couldn't help but cry out in pain as his arm pulled where it was grasping the rope tightly. A second later he was slamming into the solid brick of the building.

"That's gonna leave a mark." He muttered to himself, groaning.

He was trying to get his bow secured on his back when the drones locked on him again. In his scramble to avoid getting turned to Swiss cheese, his bow slipped. He could only watch in horror as it fell sixteen stories and shattered. He couldn't waste time mourning his weapon as more bullets pinged off the brick around him. He had to get out of the open.

He pushed his body away from the building, using his legs. He repeated the process, getting farther away from the building each time, all the while eyeing the distance to a window beneath him. When he was ready, he planted his boots on the brick of the building, contracted his legs and then pushed off with enough power to send him sailing away from the building. He did the calculations quickly in his head, a perk of being a sniper, complex geometric math came easily. As he began his journey back towards the brick he waited until just the right moment and let go of the rope, tucking his head into his arms and bringing his knees to his chest. He hit the window dead center, shattering it and tumbling into the room.

He came up in a defensive crouch, sidearm drawn, ready to face any threat the room presented. He could only blink dumbly at the young mother and infant huddled in the corner of the room.

"Sorry, had to borrow your window." He apologized, holstering the weapon and putting his palms out to show he wouldn't hurt her.

"Is it safe yet?" The mother asked in a whisper, hugging her sleeping baby to her.

"Not yet." Clint looked her right in the eye, "But it will be soon. Just stay here and you'll be safe."

"You're one of the Avengers." She realized, recognition lighting her eyes. "Hawkeye."

"Yes ma'am."

"Where's your bow?"

"About sixteen stories below us shattered into a several pieces." He admitted with a frown.

Her eyes darted to the shattered window, then back to him.

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine…you stay here, okay." He instructed, heading towards the door. She nodded silently and watched him leave. Slowly, she stood and walked to the shattered glass, careful to keep her feet clear of it. Shifting her son to one arm she crouched and picked up a particularly large piece of the glass, staring with wide eyes at the red liquid staining it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Chapter 2
> 
> I do love comments, so if you feel inclined, drop one :) I won't mind!
> 
> Here's a preview of Chapter 3:
> 
> Clint stood, wincing minutely at the pain in his calf.
> 
> "Three people in the world could make that shot in the dark, from far enough away that Jarvis couldn't find them…I'm one…the second's rumored dead, killed by Daredevil in Hell's Kitchen."
> 
> "And the third?" Tony asked already afraid of the answer.
> 
> "His name is Cole Williams, call sign One-Shot…ex military, we served together in Afghanistan before I was recruited by SHIELD."


	3. I'm Not Crazy, Or Anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except for Cole Williams. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
> 
> Welcome back! On to chapter 3!

_A hero is a man who is afraid to run away._

**_English Proverb_ **

* * *

"Hawkeye what's your status?" Iron Man demanded as he blasted the drones that had fired on his teammate.

" _I'm good."_

"Then get your ass down here!" Tony snapped, blasting a nearby robot into pieces.

* * *

"I'm good." Clint responded. He heard Black Widow say something nasty in Russian. She always got pissed when he scared her. At Tony's reply, he closed his eyes briefly from where he had a hand braced against the wall next to the stairwell entry; the other was pressed against a bleeding wound on his side, just below where his Kevlar vest protected him. He had similar cuts on his bare arms and face. His calf was burning, but he refused to let it slow him down. Pain he was used to, pain he could ignore. He took a deep breath and pushed his way into the stair well. Sixteen flights on a heavily bleeding calf wouldn't be easy. It was a square stair well with about a 3 by 3 foot gap between the flights.

He smiled, pulling a thin nylon rope from a pouch on his belt. He tied it off on the railing and made sure his gloves were firmly in place. He always kept a basic rig on his belt for repelling situations. You never knew when one would need to repel off something. In his case it was often. He locked the rope into the rigging and climbed onto the railing, balancing easily. His years in the circus made the two inch railing feel like it was foot. He turned his back to the gap and pushed off.

* * *

Tony had read Clint's file, he'd read the whole team's files, and Clint's had said everything short of actually calling him 'bad ass'. So Tony wasn't surprised when the Hawk came bursting out of the ground floor of the apartment building, wielding two wicked looking handguns. He wasn't fazed in the least that the man had made quicker work of sixteen stories than was humanly possible. He only smirked behind his face mask when the archer turned out to be just as accurate with the pistols as he was with an arrow. And Tony had never seen anybody cycle a weapon as fast as this kid did, not even in the movies.

As if sensing his return to their level, the Widow made her way through the robots to fight at the Hawk's side. Individually, they were both deadly, together, they were terrifying. The fought like they were one being, always aware of the other's movements and instinctively covering each other's weak points. It was like a well rehearsed dance that no one else knew the steps to.

* * *

The man smiled when Clint came bursting out onto street level, pleased the Hawk was putting up a descent fight. It would make his victory all the sweeter when it came.

"He survived." The scientist stated, slight awe in his tone.

"I expected nothing less." The man replied, walking away from the screens. He pulled his side arm, concealed at his back, and fired at the scientist, point blank in the head. "Your services are no longer needed." He informed, holstering his M-9 and moving towards the back of the room. He looked at his M-24 sniper rifle for a moment before closing the case and carrying it out of the room.

_Game on, Barton._

* * *

Hawkeye rammed his combat knife into the neck of the robot before him, watching in detached interest as it crumpled to the ground. When another didn't immediately step up to take its place, he glanced around. Natasha was at his back, looking around as well. Iron Man was landing, and his facemask immediately slid up. Bruce wandered out from behind a wall, his ripped pants clutched at his waist. Captain America made his way towards them, as he secured his shield on his back.

"I'll call it in." The leader announced, stepping away to contact SHEILD. Clint crouched to inspect the robot before him. Dead center in the middle of its chest were painted crosshairs. He looked around; they all had the same symbol printed on their chest. He fingered the symbol, searching his mind for anybody he knew about that favored the design.

He didn't hear the shot; only felt the spray of shrapnel as a bullet impacted the symbol, dead center. Everybody dove for cover; Tony merely slid his facemask back down. Clint's eyes searched the rooftops and windows of every building a sniper could be hiding. Nothing.

"Jarvis, find the shooter."

" _No other life forms within my sensor range, Mr. Stark."_  Jarvis announced.

Clint stood, wincing minutely at the pain in his calf.

"Three people in the world could make that shot in the dark, from far enough away that Jarvis couldn't find them…I'm one…the second's rumored dead, killed by Daredevil in Hell's Kitchen."

"And the third?" Tony asked already afraid of the answer.

"His name is Cole Williams, call sign One-Shot…ex military, we served together in Afghanistan before I was recruited by SHIELD."

"Why wasn't he recruited?" Bruce asked, glancing around warily, expecting another shot.

"I was better." The answer was blunt and succinct. No one dared to argue.

"Any reason he'd want you dead?" Captain America asked from where he'd taken cover in a building.

"Plenty." Clint sighed deeply, walking over to his shattered bow. "But if he wanted me dead, I'd be dead…that's not his play, not yet."

"What  _is_  his play?" Natasha asked, crouching to check the wound on his calf.

"He wants to get my attention...he was always testing me…to try and see who was better…everything was a competition…this is another challenge."

"To all of us." Natasha insisted, her eyes hard, daring him to argue. He didn't with words but they could all see the disagreement in his eyes. He believed this was his issue to deal with, no one else's.

"He didn't kill you because he wants to play some sick sniper game?" Tony frowned, his face mask sliding up once again. Clint nodded once, sighing.

"But you're better…so he'll lose, right?" Bruce questioned, struggling a little with his alter ego, who was pushing to make an appearance after the gunfire. Clint didn't answer, his eyes distant as he stared at the bullet hole in the robot.

"Let's get out of the open and go home." Steve sighed. "And you look like you need medical attention." He said to their archer.

"I'm fine." Clint defended absently, his eyes never leaving the crosshairs and bullet hole.

_Game on, One-Shot._

* * *

"I'm fine." Clint insisted as he tried to dodge Nat and get out of the infirmary.

"Bullet holes don't mean fine." She argued, effectively blocking his way.

" _One_  bullet hole and its stitched and bandaged, the rest are just cuts and bruises."

"A  _big_  cut, Clint...with twenty stitches."

"I'm fine." He insisted

"You need to rest."

"I will,  _later_." He tried to dodge her again.

"Clint." She snapped, her eyes hard.

"Natasha, get out of my way." His voice had dropped an octave and taken on a tone she hadn't heard since Coulson had died.

"Let me help." She pleaded, both of them knowing she wasn't talking about his leg anymore.

"You can't." He denied, finally slipping past her and stalking away. She frowned in frustration, her eyes fiery.

_This so isn't over._

* * *

Steve found him in the shooting range. It had been hours since anyone had seen him, but when he'd asked, Nat had very sharply told him where to find her partner. The archer's hands were shaking, that was the first thing he noticed. There were dark smudges under his eyes, that was the second thing. He loosed an arrow and it fell, exactly center on the target.

He knew Clint knew he was there, but for whatever reason, the archer wasn't acknowledging his presence. Steve decided to take the matter into his own hands.

"Barton." He greeted quietly. The archer didn't pause in his methodical process of notching another arrow. "Who is he to you?" Steve asked, getting to the heart of the matter, as usual.

"No one." Clint answered sharply, loosing the next arrow.

* * *

_Afghanistan_

_1 year and 2 months before Clint Barton was recruited by SHEILD_

" _Double or nothing?" Cole whispered to his fellow sniper across the communications line._

_Clint clenched his jaw. Cole was obsessed with competing with him. The older sniper just couldn't accept that a man ten years his junior (though as far as the US Army knew it was only 8 years) was a better shooter._

" _We're on a mission, One-Shot."_

" _Come on Hawk…you afraid you just got lucky in the range yesterday."_

" _I_ _ **know**_ _it wasn't just luck. Now isn't the time."_

" _You're not even gonna give me the chance to restore my pride?" Cole was getting angry; Clint could hear it in his voice._

" _Save it for the range." Was Clint's succinct reply._

" _We'll see."_

_Clint was about to ask what_ _**that** _ _was supposed to mean when their targets arrived._

" _Hawkeye, One-Shot, you are cleared to fire. Light 'em up boys."_

_Clint had lined up a target as soon as the truck carrying the Iraqi terrorist cell had come into sight. He squeezed the trigger lightly. Dead center in the temple. He had another target in his sights before the first even fell. Another perfect shot, this time to the forehead. Clint had been assigned two targets, two faces to memorize. His dealt with them turned his attention to One-Shot's assignments. His breath caught. A little boy was in the lap of one of the targets, obviously crying and terrified._

_Clint watched Cole's first target go down with nearly the same deadly accuracy as his had. Then before Clint could do anything, a bullet ripped into the little boy's back. He actually cried out, he was so horrified. It would have been easy to kill shot the final target in the head. It's what One-Shot should have done. And he did, a moment later._

* * *

" _What the hell was that?" Clint growled, shoving Cole into the wall outside their barracks._

" _It was a mission."_

" _The kid wasn't a target! You didn't have to kill him!"_

" _I couldn't get a clear shot, just like my report said; I had to get the kid out of the way."_

" _Bullshit!" Clint shouted, shoving him hard again before pacing away, trying to rein his temper. "I_ _ **know**_ _where you were positioned. You could have made that shot easily!"_

" _That kid was a terrorist in the making! I did the world a favor!" Cole defended, shoving Clint back. Clint shook his head, horrified._

" _That's insane…I've got to report you."_

" _Do that and I'll tell them you lied about your age. You'll be arrested and they won't believe a word you say."_

_Clint's steely gaze would have brought better men to the ground._

" _Don't be a pussy, Clint…I did what needed to be done."_

* * *

Steve stared at him, hearing the lie in his teammate's words. He decided to let it slide, though, and hit another point he'd been waiting to bring up.

"You and Coulson were close friends, weren't you." He stated it as the fact he knew it was.

"We aren't talking about this." Clint deflected, loosing another arrow. His quiver was empty now and he moved to retrieve his collection from the targets.

"I know how it feels to lose someone that means that much to you…and to feel like it's your fault." Steve insisted, following him down range to the targets.

Clint ignored him.

"I was a soldier, just like you, Clint." Steve's voice hardened. "I led my best friend into a fight he had no hope of surviving. But he followed me because he trusted me to get him home. I  _failed_  and for the longest time I thought that it was my fault, that I killed him."

It didn't seem at first like Clint was listening, but then he saw his shoulders tense and pushed on.

"Coulson wouldn't have blamed you, Clint…and neither do any of us. You owe it to him to respect his choice to fight. He  _chose_  this life. He knew the risks. Don't take away the honor in his death."

Steve was surprised when Clint snapped the arrow he was retrieving in half.

"There was no  _honor_  in his death!" Clint snapped angrily. "And the fight he chose was never supposed to be on his home turf! That was  _me_! My fault! I brought Loki's men here! I bled all of SHEILD's intel like a stuck pig! I failed! I was weak and it got good men killed! I deserve to carry this for the rest of my life!"

Steve stood his ground when Clint invaded his personal space. The man was noticeably shorter, but no less imposing. For a moment he hated that he was such an intuitive person. Because he could hear the pain in his comrade's voice, could see the self loathing in his eyes. For a moment he saw himself, after Bucky died. He kept his tone even and calm when he responded.

"Would you have blamed Coulson?" He asked simply.

Clint's eyes registered surprise and he offered no response.

"You had no control, Barton. Loki stole that from you. By doing this to yourself, you're letting him win even though he lost." With that Steve turned and walked away. He closed his eyes in sadness when he heard a crash and then the sound of multiple arrows scattering across the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Chapter 3!
> 
> If you feel like commenting, I would love to hear what you have to say :)
> 
> Here's your preview for Chapter 4:
> 
>  
> 
> "Next in line for the pep talk?" He questioned harshly.
> 
> "No…I know I probably couldn't say anything to help…but I have something for you, from someone who can."
> 
> Clint's eyes flew up to meet his and Bruce slid the envelope, unopened, across the table.


	4. Wish That I Could Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except for Cole Williams. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
> 
> Thanks to longlivetheclones for commenting :)
> 
> And on we go to Chapter 4! Enjoy!

_Show me a hero, and I'll write you a tragedy._

**_F. Scott Fitzgerald_ **

* * *

Clint was balancing, upside down, with his hands wrapped around a gymnast's bar. His body was ramrod straight, his toes pointed, his grey blue eyes boring a hole in the floor. This was how Tony found him.

"Jarvis?" Tony asked his AI system curiously.

" _Two hours and forty three minutes."_  Jarvis replied helpfully.

"How has his head not exploded from the blood rushing into it?" Tony wondered aloud as he headed to the treadmill. And then, almost as if in response, Clint shifted his weight so he was only supported by one arm.

Tony nodded that he was impressed and clapped sarcastically.

"Now let go with the other hand!" Tony suggested with a smirk. Clint, predictably, ignored him.

"You know this whole soul-crushed, drama queen vibe you give off is really lame." Tony informed as he started walking on the treadmill. He wasn't expecting a response so he continued his one sided conversation.

"And so is blaming yourself for something that isn't your fault. I should know, I've been blamed for plenty of things that weren't my fault."

"Have you considered the possibility that you may have slight anti-social tendencies? You don't ever find yourself fantasizing about sniping people from a bell tower do you?"

"So how long have you and the Russian time bomb been sleeping together? Cuz it's  _so_  obvious…"

Huh, he'd really thought that one would get an acknowledgement.

"When they said elevate your bullet wound, I'm not quite sure this is what they had in mind."

Tony paused, glancing at his silent companion.

"I don't think anyone has ever ignored me for so long. I'm marginally impressed."

He stepped off the treadmill that had never gotten faster than a meandering walk. He regarded the young assassin with a weighing expression.

"I knew Coulson, not as well as you obviously, but well enough."

Still no response.

"I knew him for two years and I didn't learn his first name until he came to tell me the world was in danger six months ago…We all have our share of regrets, kid…it's the way of life. You just got to accept it and move on.

"And this whole sniper vendetta thing…don't even think about handling it alone…of all of us, you're one of the only ones that  _isn't_  bulletproof." With that he walked away. Clint didn't move.

* * *

"It's a lost cause." Tony announced, coming into the living room. "The kid didn't say a word while I was in there spinning my words of wisdom."

"Did you give him a chance?" Steve asked with a slight chuckle. Tony glared at him.

"He's dealing with a lot." Natasha defended. "Just give it time." She ordered, stalking out. Bruce stayed silent in the corner, where he'd been sorting through the mail. He stared down at a yellow padded envelope addressed to Clint. That in itself was surprising since the guy hadn't even unpacked. But the return address was what shocked him. One simple word.

_Coulson_

* * *

He was eating in the kitchen alone at 3 am when Bruce quietly entered. Clint sighed.

"Next in line for the pep talk?" He questioned harshly.

"No…I know I probably couldn't say anything to help…but I have something for you, from someone who can."

Clint's eyes flew up to meet his and Bruce slid the envelope, unopened, across the table.

"He knew you'd be here, that has to mean something, right?" Bruce asked quietly before turning back to the door. He paused one more time, his voice almost too low to hear when he spoke, "And I know what it feels like to wake up and realize you've done terrible things…and I know that whether or not you were in control doesn't really matter…you're not alone in that." The scientist didn't look back as he walked out, leaving the assassin alone. Clint stared after him, hearing the truth in the man's words. If anybody understood losing control of your actions, it was the man behind the Hulk. He glanced down at the envelope and stared at the name in the top left corner, his heart constricting. He tore it open and out slipped a DVD in a clear plastic case. His own name written in Coulson's wildly perfect handwriting on the disk.

* * *

In his room, he stared at his laptop as the DVD loaded. Quite suddenly his friend's face consumed the screen. Clint felt his breath leave him in a sharp exhalation, his chest constricting.

" _Hey Clint…at the risk of sounding cliché, if you're watching this, then I'm dead…I decided to record this after you were taken by Loki. I left strict instructions for it to be sent to you in the event of my death, six months after we won, because I know we'll win. Just like I know you'll find a way to break this hold he has on you._

_I know that if I died, it probably had something to do with Loki and that you were probably still blaming yourself because you were under his control…This is me, telling you to knock it the hell off."_

Clint couldn't help but breathe a laugh, remembering Croatia and him telling Coulson those exact words.

" _If I couldn't get away with it then neither can you. Loki was wielding a power none of us could possibly understand. You couldn't help anything that happened. So stop beating yourself up over it. And as for me…I chose to be here…to be in this fight…I knew the risks and I did it anyway. It's no less than you do everyday…I know it's hard for you to lay down your burdens, but this is one that you should never have carried in the first place…So forgive yourself, Barton…and let yourself move on…_

_That being said… I hope you got this because you're with the Avengers, and they didn't have to forward it to you. You belong with them, Clint. You are as much of a hero as any of the_ _m._ _More maybe, because you and Natasha are so painfully and beautifully human. It's not the ones with super powers that make the best heroes…they have an obligation to use their powers for good…it's the people like you and Nat…the_ _**ordinary** _ _ones, that don't have to fight, but choose to anyway…you're the ones that are the real heroes in my book…remember that._

Coulson sighed on the screen, looking down for a moment. His eyes were sad when he looked back up.

" _I know it's hard for you to let people in. I know I promised you that I would always have your back…so I'm sorry, I let you down. I hope that one day you'll forgive me, but more than that, I hope you forgive yourself... I don't blame you Clint…None of this was your fault…Now my last order is a standing one, so listen up…don't ever make the mistake of thinking you're alone. You're not alone, Clint. You have an entire team of extraordinary men, and you have Natasha. I promised you nine years ago that you would never be truly alone again and I meant it. Let them in, kid…they'll surprise you._

" _I'll leave you with this…Don't hide from who you could become, you're capable of a greatness you can't even fathom. Goodbye, Agent Barton."_

The screen went black abruptly and Clint was horrified to realize his eyes were wet with tears that had yet to fall. He blinked them away, closing his laptop carefully. Even in death Coulson had told him exactly what he'd needed to hear.

_Goodbye, Phil…thanks for kicking my ass into gear one last time._

* * *

"Williams is a bonafide psychopath. Everything is a game to him." Clint was outlining for the team. He was leaning back against the wall in their briefing room, his arms crossed across his chest. His stormy eyes were staring darkly at the picture of Williams they'd gotten from his military file that was projected holographically in the center of the room.

"How well did you know each other?" Steve asked calmly, his eyes on his teammate. In less than 24 hours, Clint's attitude had vastly improved. He was still quiet and withdrawn. But he hadn't missed a meal the team had together. He still pushed himself to the limit in training, but his hands didn't shake anymore. Steve didn't know what had changed, but he had hope that their team might finally become whole.

"We were on the same sniper team, we did missions together. He never liked that a kid ten years his junior could outshoot him."

"Ten years?" Tony wondered, doing the math in his head. "You were eighteen when SHIELD recruited you?" He didn't know why he was so surprised.

"Youngest in history." Natasha smiled at her partner. Clint all but ignored them, continuing with his briefing.

"He made everything a challenge,  _everything_ …he also didn't care who he hurt to prove a point. He was bloodthirsty and had a wild temper."

"Why didn't you report him?" Steve asked gently.

"I did." Clint scowled. "In return he told them I was underage and we both got arrested by the military police and confined for court martial."

"What happened?" Steve asked, his tone hard. He knew about lying to enlist, and sympathized.

Clint smirked darkly.

"I escaped…he didn't."

"How?" Bruce questioned.

Clint just smiled deviously.

"He served time and I disappeared, working as a gun for hire until SHIELD found me a year later."

They all stood silent for a moment, absorbing the new information about their teammate.

"That wasn't in your file." Tony ventured finally. He got a scowl for his snooping and Clint's tone was a little harder.

"SHIELD expunged my military record when I was recruited."

"Nice of them." Tony muttered.

"How good is he?" Steve asked, purposefully ignoring the physicist.

"Not as good as me." Clint smirked again, this time with cool confidence.

Natasha nudged him and rolled her eyes. Clint sighed and answered differently.

"He's good…and crazy enough to be really dangerous. He could start killing civilians for no reason and we wouldn't be able to stop him."

"He's focused on you right now though, why?" Natasha asked.

"I ruined his life." Clint sighed. "He was sent to military prison because of me and dishonorably discharged."

"This is revenge then." Bruce realized.

"And one last chance to try and prove he's better." Clint finished.

"What will he do?" Tony asked.

"That's the problem…the only thing the guy is predictable about is that he's going to start killing…there's no way to know where or when, just that he will."

"So what do we do?" Bruce asked.

"We wait." Steve surmised, glancing at Clint for conformation. The archer nodded.

"He wanted my attention, he's got it…soon he'll let me know what he wants."

"Great." Tony clapped his hands together enthusiastically. "I excel at waiting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Chapter 4
> 
> If you feel so inclined - I would love to hear what you think :)
> 
> Here's a preview of Chapter 5!
> 
> "Where are you, you son of a bitch?" He whispered. His sharp eyes caught the glint of the rifle on the roof of a building at the edge of the river. He drew his bow just as he heard Natasha cry out. He turned in time to see her spin to the ground, clutching her shoulder.
> 
> "No!" He shouted, he turned and sighted, loosing the arrow a fraction of a second later.


	5. Up, Up and Away, Away From Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except for Cole Williams. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
> 
> I forgot to post yesterday and am going out of town this weekend - so I'm posting thru Chapter 8 today before I leave :) Enjoy

_A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave for five minutes longer._

**_Ralph Waldo Emerson_ **

* * *

It took less than fourteen hours for everyone to start avoiding Tony. He'd gotten tired of waiting for something to happen after ten, and for eight of those he'd been sleeping. A bored Tony was even more annoying than regular Tony, Steve mused as he made his way to the gym. That was saying something too.

Steve on the other hand didn't mind the lack of action. He enjoyed it actually, after a lifetime filled with war. But that didn't mean he didn't get restless, which was why he was headed to the gym at one o'clock in the morning. He hadn't been expecting anyone to be there already, and instinctively he concealed himself as he peered into the large room.

Clint and Natasha. He should have known. The two of them trained like they expected to have to fight for their lives tomorrow.  _Though_ , he ruminated, _in their experience it had probably been a likely possibility._ As he watched them spar, though, he realized this wasn't one of their normal ruthless sparing matches. Normally, they didn't pull punches, they fought like it was kill or be killed because one day it would be.

He'd caught them, the day after Williams appeared in their lives, sparing with Clint blindfolded. He'd been horrified as Natasha landed hit after hit. To the archer's credit, he just kept getting up. Tony had very loudly asked them why the hell they were doing that. Clint, without removing the blindfold, had said simply.  _"Next time, I'll be ready."_  It had taken less than an hour for Clint to adjust to not having his sight, and then the fight had been something to behold.

Tonight, they seemed to be playing, dancing around each other in a taunting, playful fashion, bursting into random bouts of combat.

Steve was mesmerized by them. The moved in perfect synchronization, as if they were the same person just split into two. In a way, he guessed they were. They understood each other in a way none of the rest of the team ever would. If the looks they shared were anything to go by, they'd been through hell together, many times over. He'd never had someone that knew him that well. Bucky had come close, but even he had never really understood why Steve had chosen to be Captain America.

He smiled softly when the two assassins went to the ground in a tangle of limbs, both laughing. He didn't think he'd ever heard Clint laugh. They rolled to a stop with Natasha on her back and Clint stretched out half on top of her, half next to her. In a gesture expressing more tenderness than Steve ever could have thought the archer was capable of, the man reached up to brush Natasha's fiery hair out of her eyes. A warm smile Steve never would have every expected to show on the assassin's face, spread across Natasha's lips.

"Think you can sleep now?" Natasha's voice floated across the quiet gym to Steve's ears. Steve didn't hear Clint reply, but whatever was showing on the marksman's face spurred Romanoff to speak again, her hand moving to frame the archer's jaw. "You're not alone." She said it was such conviction that Steve felt a surge of emotion well in him, even though the words were not meant for him.

They just stared at each other for a moment longer before Clint nodded and pushed to his feet, pulling Natasha up after him. Steve hurried to hide himself in the equipment closet as they headed towards the door. As he watched their back's retreat down the hallway, he wondered why they never showed their obvious affection in front of the team. Never held hands, like they did now. Rarely spoke, instead relying on looks and expressions to communicate. He wondered why they thought they had to hide it how deeply in love they obviously were.

* * *

Natasha woke before he did, somehow sensing his distress. Her eyes slid open and she rolled over, putting her back to the door. He was shifting restlessly, no doubt caught in the throes of one of the many nightmares of the past, or the fears of the future. She knew better than to wake him, she'd tried that once and come away with a knife wound on her arm. He slept with his combat blade under his pillow every night, and she had known that, but hadn't thought he'd be so lost in the nightmare that he'd pull it on her. She'd learned that lesson quickly.

So all she could do was wait and watch his inner struggle. When he came awake, it was sudden. One moment he was shifting restlessly and the next he was jackknifed, his breathing already near hyperventilation, his blade in front of him defensively.

"Tasha?" He gasped her name instantly, his free hand reaching for her even as he twisted towards her side of their bed. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"I'm here." She assured, meeting his hand with hers and sitting up quickly. He very rarely dreamed about something happening to her. He trusted her abilities that much. But when he did, it was usually something very very bad.

He pulled her roughly against him, crushing her in a hug, his breathing still harsh and rasping.

"You're okay." He breathed out through the gasping breaths.

She rubbed his back gently, wondering what the hell he dreamed to get him this worked up.

"I'm just fine. I'm right here with you." She assured gently.

He started to pull away and she let him, but they kept their hands on each other's arms. His eyes were calmer now, less wild, but still intense. She didn't ask, but he told her anyway.

"Germany." He whispered the word with such intense hatred that she swallowed.

"With Victor?" She guessed, it wouldn't be the first time he'd dreamed of that god forsaken mission. She'd had her fair share of nightmares about it too.

"Yeah…" His eyes held so much pain that she hurt for him.

"We survived, you saved me." She whispered fiercely.

"That time." He challenged with a dark chuckle.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She demanded.

"What if I'm not strong enough anymore?"

"What?" She was so confused. Then she realized. "Hey." She snapped, forcing his attention to her. "I trust you. Because you will always be strong enough to save me when I need it because you would never accept anything less."

"I don't know anymore." He admitted darkly.

"I do." She stated it with such fervor, such conviction, and a tone that dared him to try and challenge her. Her being sure had always been enough for him. His breathing started to calm and he dropped his hands from her arms, she mirrored him. Her eyes cut to the clock on his bedside table. They'd barely slept. It was only 3:30am.

"Sorry I woke you." He apologized quietly. She shushed him and pulled him back to lie down. She curled her body around him listening to his slowing heart.

"It's not like I haven't done the same." She whispered. "Try and go back to sleep." She encouraged. She smiled slightly when he wrapped his arm around her back. She only ever felt safe in his arms. It didn't take long for the beat of his heart to lull her back to sleep. But Clint stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, until she woke four hours later.

* * *

When they finally got a call, it had nothing to do with villains or snipers. It was a multi car accident on the Brooklyn Bridge. There apparently were fires and the cars were smashed together like a crude puzzle, with live victims still trapped inside their cars. It was handy to have a Super Soldier that could lift a car, and an Iron Man that could do the same. Hawkeye was surprisingly good at field medicine and with Natasha and un-hulked Bruce's help he took the lead on getting victims to the medical experts in the safe zone.

He was on top of a turned over semi when it happened. A bullet tore into the roof next to his feet and he jumped back, flailing to keep his balance.

"Shooter!" He shouted to his teammates. Their reactions were instantaneous.

"Jarvis, find him!" Tony demanded.

"Barton, get to off of there and get to cover!" Steve ordered sharply.

Natasha pulled Bruce down behind a car even as her eyes sought Clint out and she pulled her gun. He ran along the roof of the semi, jumping off its edge athletically into a roll onto a sedan. With the cars as packed as they were he had to leap and run from rooftop to rooftop until he was able to slide to the ground. Bullets peppered his trail as he moved. Before he'd even settled behind his cover, he had his bow drawn and was searching out Williams with his eyes.

"Where are you, you son of a bitch?" He whispered. His sharp eyes caught the glint of the rifle on the roof of a building at the edge of the river. He drew his bow just as he heard Natasha cry out. He turned in time to see her spin to the ground, clutching her shoulder.

"No!" He shouted, he turned and sighted, loosing the arrow a fraction of a second later.

* * *

On the rooftop, Cole Williams jerked to the side, laughing as a black arrow skimmed the air next to his cheek.

"Not bad, kid."

* * *

"Tasha!" Clint called over his shoulder.

"I'm good, go!" she ordered. Clint didn't need to be told twice.

"Stark!" Clint called.

"Clench up, Legolas." Tony advised a second before he landed next to him, wrapped an arm around him and took off again. Just as they left the ground, a bullet ripped into Bruce's chest, sending him to the ground.

"Shit." Tony gasped as the Hulk surged forward, yelling in inhuman anger.

"Second rooftop north of the bridge!" Clint instructed sharply. "Cap get her away from him!"

" _I've got her, Barton."_  Steve assured.

A bullet pinged off Tony's armor.

"Just drop me on the roof and let me handle this."

"Barton…"

"He's mine, Stark." Tony could tell by the tone of his coworker's voice that any interference would never be forgiven. This guy had done the unthinkable; he'd gone after the Widow.

"I'll keep you covered."

Tony flew quickly to the building and let Clint loose about seven feet above the rooftop. The archer proved his agility and athleticism once again when he hit the tarmac and immediately tucked into a roll and came up with his bow drawn, arrow notched. An impressive feat when he was still healing from getting shot a week ago. Tony hovered a distance away, watching the sniper pull a handgun to match. The two stood, both poised to fire, barely six feet apart. Tony held his breath, knowing it was a contest to see who would blink first.

When the moment came, Tony wasn't sure who moved first, both men's movements were faster than even Jarvis's eye could follow. One second, they were facing off. The next, the gun was discharging a split second before an arrow knocked it from the wielder's grasp. Tony almost headed in when he saw Clint flinch as the bullet creased his shoulder. But when the archer was a blur of movement in the next moment, the armor clad hero held back. Hawkeye nearly had another arrow notched when the sniper charged the expanse between them, knocking the arrow wild just as it was released. Clint immediately brought the lower end of the bow up, using it as a weapon against Cole's ribs. When the sniper doubled, Clint snapped the other end of the bow into his head. Cole tumbled to the ground, coming up wielding another gun, he fired, splintering the bow in Clint's hand and knocking it away.

" _Tony, you need to fly her to a doctor, she's losing blood fast."_ Steve's voice came urgently over their ear wigs.

Tony cursed, watching as Clint and Cole circled each other like predators on animal planet. He was torn. He needed to watch Clint's back, just in case this showdown went south. But if he delayed Widow medical care, Clint would be furious. He didn't want a man like that angry at him,  _ever_. The archer made the decision for him.

" _Go, Stark, I got this."_  Clint ordered, his tone dark.

"Barton…" Tony hedged.

" _That wasn't a suggestion."_

"I'm on it." He promised before blasting back the way they'd come. "Steve…"

" _I'm on my way."_  The Captain assured, taking off in a sprint towards Clint's location after leaving Natasha with the local police. He dodged the Hulk's flailing arms, watching as Bruce struggled to rein the monster in.

* * *

Clint pushed Natasha from his mind once Tony confirmed he was going to get her to help. He knew he'd need his focus on the here and now, so he could end this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Chapter 5
> 
> Thanks for reading :) I would love to hear some comments if you feel inclined :)
> 
> Here's your preview of Chapter 6:
> 
> The bullets from a third gun impacted his Kevlar in quick succession. Of course the asshole had another gun. He was ex-military. Clint thought as he stumbled backwards, nearly going over the wall at the edge of the roof. Cole struggled to his feet as Clint fought to hang on to consciousness. Six bullets to the chest did damage, even with Kevlar.
> 
> "Until next time, Barton." Cole hissed, driving his boot into Clint's chest and sending him backwards over the wall.


	6. It's Not Easy To Be Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except for Cole Williams. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
> 
> On to Chapter 6
> 
> Enjoy!

_A coward gets scared and quits. A hero gets scared, but still goes on._

**_Unknown_ **

* * *

Clint knew he was better trained. SHIELD had made sure of that after they recruited him. He had never faced anyone until Natasha that could match him in combat. But Cole had at least 30 pounds on him, and that counted for something too.

They circled each other warily, sizing each other up. Cole surpassed six feet and was built like a boxer. Clint, on the other hand, had held steady at 5' 10' since he was fifteen. He was athletically built, well muscled, but lean. He needed a lithe body to perform the things he executed on missions. Clint waited, knowing he had an advantage. When Cole had known him, Clint had the patience of a saint when he was at roost for a mission and the opposite when they were on base. He always struck first, believing the best defense was a good offense.

SHIELD had changed that. Coulson had trained him to be patient in everything. He already excelled at it when waiting for a sniper shot, but his friend and mentor had taught him that patience in even the little things could lead to victory where it should have been a loss. He'd learned to bide his time in a hand to hand fight, let the other guy, who was often bigger, be the aggressor and focus on his defense, landing a blow when the opportunity presented itself, but not seeking it out. That strategy tired the other guy out, and when Clint turned on the offense, he could usually floor them quickly.

He planned to put all that training to use now as he just continued to calmly circle Cole. He could do this all day. But he knew that Cole hadn't ever learned the lesson he'd been taught at SHIELD. He could tell by the growing frustration in his former comrade's eyes that his patience was thinning. Time to throw some of his mouth into the game and speed things up.

"You look a little thicker since we saw each other last, Cole; I told you that cheeseburgers go straight to the hips." Clint smirked darkly.

"It's all muscle, Hawk." Cole's grin was just as shadowed.

"Sure it is." Clint allowed in a deeply patronizing tone.

"You on the other hand haven't changed a bit, kid. Still the smallest guy out there."

"Was always the  _fastest_  though." Clint grinned, unruffled.

"Sometimes…especially when it was on the way to tattle to the brass." Cole growled.

Clint's grey blue eyes darkened.

"I did what I had to do to stop  _you_."

"I was doing America a favor."

"You were creating collateral damage where there didn't have to be any…America was ashamed, in case that wasn't clear with the  _dis_ honorable discharge."

"And the years in military prison." Cole's countenance grew stormy, anger clouding his eyes.

"That's right…what was it? 20?"

"With parole in 10…which is what bring me here." Cole spread his arms demonstratively.

"This will really convince them you're readjusting to society…" Clint chuckled sarcastically.

"I just needed to convince them I'd changed…just long enough to get them to let me walk out of there…so I could find  _you_."

"Well here I am." Clint shifted, sensing the fight was coming.

"Indeed you are…in all your  _superhero_  glory…I never pictured you as a team player, Hawk."

"Things change." Clint shrugged.

"But not people." Cole countered.

"Depends on the person." Barton disagreed, thinking of Natasha, of who she used to be and who she was now. "And their motivation."

"Ah…you're talking about your little girlfriend the Black Widow…from heartless assassin to superhero poster girl…a story for the ages…how is she by the way, dead yet?" Cole's eyes glinted cruelly as he smirked.

"You must be slipping…nowhere close to a kill shot." Clint growled.

"Wasn't aiming to kill…was aiming to make her suffer."

Clint's expression went stone cold and his whole body tensed and coiled like a lion preparing to pounce.

"The green guy, on the other hand...I'd heard rumors...figured I'd see if they were true." Cole shrugged.

Clint's blood boiled. The guy was playing with his team, hurting them for fun. He was going to enjoy taking him down.

"Bet you've been dreading this day, Barton." Cole goaded, trying to get the younger man to strike.

"Actually, Williams…I haven't given you a second thought since the day I broke out of prison."

The sniper's eyes darkened in offense at the slight.

"How is that you can walk around free, with your face all over the news and the military just lets you be…you're the one that made a mockery of them."

"Perk of the job." Clint grinned, tapping the SHIELD logo on his chest. "I proved I was too valuable for the government to hunt…they recruited me instead."

"While I rotted in prison." Cole spat. "I was the patriot, not you."

"Yeah because they save the Court Martials for the  _true_  patriots." Clint shot back. "You were a disgrace to the uniform and the flag it had on its shoulder."

Cole's eyes flared and he moved, finally pushed enough to snap. Clint was ready.

Cole's right fist was blocked, as well as his closely following left. He got an elbow to the cheek for his trouble and Clint danced a few steps away. There were no traces of the smirk, or dark humor in his eyes. His eyes were grey as flint and cold as ice, his face set like stone.

His next series of attacks were met with nearly the same result, until he was able to ram his fist into the archer's wounded arm. The pain distracted the other man for barely a moment, but it was all Cole needed to land his first real blow to Clint's head. It was close fisted, straight to the temple and hard enough to make Clint see stars.

_Defense._

He could hear Coulson coaching him in his head as he rammed his palm into Cole's sternum and retreated once again.

_Let him come to you._

Clint waited, and in barely seconds Cole charged him again. He blocked and deflected every attempt, and seized an opening for a left jab straight into Cole's nose. Blood spurted out of both his nostrils and Clint danced away once again.

The next volley got past Clint's defenses a few times. Three hard hits to the ribs, one cracked under the onslaught, and another blow to the head, more glancing this time, but splitting the skin on his cheekbone. Cole got away from that skirmish unblemished.

_Patience, Clint._

Coulson's voice grounded him when he wanted to charge forward, frustrated with Cole getting so many blows in.

_Patience_.

Cole's next attack was the longest yet, but Clint was ready. Showing off his speed, Clint managed to dodge nearly every swing of fist or foot. What he didn't dodge he blocked. He waited for an opening. It came when Cole swung his left fist high and Clint ducked, slamming his hands against Cole's back and forcing him to double just as he brought his knee up into a bone crushing blow.

Cole gasped, shoving away and holding his sternum. Clint advanced. A right jab into a left uppercut sent Cole stumbling backwards; an aerial spin kick to the sternum once again sent him falling to his back. Clint stalked forward.

" _Natasha open your eyes!"_

It was Tony's voice and it cut through Clint's focus like one of his own arrows. He'd tuned out his team during the fight, needing his mind in the situation, but in that moment, Clint couldn't help but feel a cold slice of fear grip his heart.  _Natasha._ It only lasted a moment, but it was enough. The bullets from a third gun impacted his Kevlar in quick succession.  _Of course the asshole had another gun. He was ex-military._ Clint thought as he stumbled backwards, nearly going over the wall at the edge of the roof. Cole struggled to his feet as Clint fought to hang on to consciousness. Six bullets to the chest did damage, even with Kevlar.

"Until next time, Barton." Cole hissed, driving his boot into Clint's chest and sending him backwards over the wall.

* * *

Steve slid to a stop in front of the appropriate building, cursing the length of the Brooklyn Bridge and the number of obstacles it housed. He looked up to the roof just in time to hear six shots pop off. He instinctively ducked only to have his breath catch when he saw Clint's shoulders suddenly appear over the edge of the roof.

" _Until next time, Barton."_

He heard the words over the comms just as he saw Clint suddenly flip backwards over the roof's wall, tumbling into open air.

"Barton!" He yelled in horror, cursing his inability to fly. The terror turned to shocked relief when the archer's left hand suddenly reached out and caught purchase on a window sill. He heard Clint's gasp of pain as his descent came to a sudden, jarring halt.

" _Rogers! Don't let him get away!"_ Clint barked over the comms, swinging his right arm up to grab the small ledge with both hands.

"I'm coming to help you." Steve decided instead, his friend's position looked entirely too precarious for his taste.

" _I'll be fine! This is our chance to end this!"_  Steve almost obeyed, almost. But he could hear the exhaustion in the Hawk's voice, the pain that would usually be hidden. He didn't need Clint's excellent vision to see his teammate wouldn't be able to hold on in his condition.

"Just hold on, Hawk." Steve commanded as he sprinted into the building and towards the stairwell.

" _Dammit Rogers!"_

The Captain ignored him and took the stairs three at a time.

He arrived to Clint's floor it what had to have been a record time. It helped that not a soul had been there to get in his way. He kicked in the door to the office Clint was dangling from and made it to the window in five strides. It was open a second later and he leaned out.

"How's it going?"

"Oh you know… just hanging around." Clint ground out. Steve smiled slightly and grabbed his wrists, levering him with surprising ease up into the window. Clint gasped and doubled when he was finally on solid ground, his hand going to his chest briefly and then to the clasps of his vest, needing to get it off to relieve some pressure from his chest.

"You alright?" Steve frowned, reaching to grip Clint's shoulder. The assassin shook his hand off.

"Where is he?" he demanded sharply.

"I don't know. He wasn't in the stairwell…that's the way I came up…"

"I told you to go after him!" Clint snapped angrily, heading towards the door.

"I had to make a choice…I chose you." Steve shot back, not regretting his decision.

"Power is off in this building." Clint noticed, flipping a switch up then down with no result. "He couldn't have taken an elevator."

"He could still be here." Steve realized moving swiftly towards the stairwell. Clint followed, breathing heavily. The heard his footsteps immediately, only a few floors below. Before Steve could stop him, Clint vaulted over the rail, throwing his body across the square expanse to cling like a monkey to the rail a level lower. He rested there only a moment before he was pushing himself off again, pivoting in mid air to land on the opposite side another level down.

Steve stared, mouth agape, awed by the archer's agility. He'd seen Natasha do feats like that before, but never Clint. He caught himself just standing and shook himself, sprinting down the stairs. He risked a look over the edge only to jump back when he heard shots. He didn't hear any shouts of pain and moved to the rail again. He saw Clint pulling himself up from a sprawled position on the stairs two levels below. He must have thrown himself back over the rail when Cole fired at him. The archer was moving slowly, his hand braced against his chest.

They heard the exit door slam open.

"Stand back!" Steve ordered. He blew out a breath and jumped over the rail. Instead of leaping from level to level, he just let himself fall straight down.

* * *

Clint's eyes widened when Steve flew by him. He leaned over the rail in time to see the Captain land in an athletic crouch on the ground floor. The archer eyed the distance, gauging it with ease, his eyes trained to measure distance instantaneously. Three floors left. He climbed onto the rail and balanced there for a second, watching Steve take off towards the door. He jumped. He bypassed one floor and shouted out in pain as he slammed into the rail of the next. He sucked in a pained breath and pushed off one last time. His legs collapsed underneath him and he forced his battered body into a roll to soften the landing.

He staggered to his feet and towards the door. The sunlight sent razor sharp shots of pain through his head and added more stagger to his step. Bruce suddenly came running up to him, breathing heavily. Clint blinked at him, the other man's mouth was moving and green patches kept appearing and disappearing on his skin, but Clint couldn't understand him. His eyes searched wildly, looking for Williams. Steve appeared next to him and suddenly Clint's world tilted. Bits of Steve's words filtered into his brain.

"…away, Barton…He's gone."

Then the gray that had been encroaching on Clint's vision turned black and he welcomed the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Chapter 6
> 
> Thanks for reading. I do love comments :)
> 
> Here's your preview for Chapter 7:
> 
> Two weeks passed like that with no word from Cole Williams and only a few skirmishes with local thugs that Tony and Steve handled themselves. Then something happened that shocked them all. Thor returned. He had surprised them all by landing on the roof during a thunderstorm and waltzing into Stark towers like he hadn't been gone.


	7. Looking For Special Things Inside Of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except for Cole Williams. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
> 
> And on to Chapter 7 - this one is a little slower, but its all about transition :)
> 
> Enjoy!

_Heroes are ordinary people who make themselves extraordinary._

**_Gerard Way_ **

* * *

Clint woke suddenly. One second Steve was staring at his teammate's lax face and the next the blue grey eyes were boring into him.

"Barton." Steve smiled in relief.

Clint blinked, trying to process where he was. It looked like the infirmary at Tony's tower.

"'Tasha?" He breathed, his eyes growing in intensity.

"She's fine." Steve assured. "Tony got her help in plenty of time. She's right here."

Steve motioned at a bed a few feet away from him. Clint breathed a sigh of relief.

"How long?" He demanded, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Pain flared in his chest, causing him to collapse back against his pillows with a gasp.

"Barton?" Steve's voice was worried.

"How long, Rogers?" Clint demanded, pressing his hand into his ribs and trying to breathe through the pain.

"You've been out for about 18 hours." Steve revealed.

"Shit." Clint ground out. "Williams?" His voice hardened.

"He got away." The Captain admitted.

"Dammit!" Clint burst out suddenly, slamming his fist angrily into the heart monitor next to his bed.

"Watch it, that's expensive equipment." Tony greeted as he strode into the room. "Look at you back in the realm of the conscious."

Clint groaned, pushing himself up again, more slowly. He pulled his IV out and swung his legs over the bed.

"I don't think…" Tony started. "Oh hell, like you'll listen anyway."

"Barton..." Steve tried to reason. Clint pressed his hand against his black and purple chest, breathing deeply through the pain. He was grateful for the blue scrub pants he was wearing as he pushed the thin sheet away.

"Stubborn, isn't he." Tony mused.

"Barton you have a serious concussion and five broken ribs!" Steve informed as he contemplated forcing the man back into bed. "Not to mention the muscles you pulled in your shoulder when you fell off the roof." He reminded.

"You fell?" Tony was surprised; he'd seen the man balance on a one inch bar for hours without even having to shift his weight.

"I was pushed!" Clint snapped, defending his abilities. He stared at Natasha's lax face. "Get out." Clint growled, glaring at Steve.

"Barton…" The super soldier started, unsure why he was being regarded in such a way.

"You should have gone after him." Clint accused darkly. "I can take care of myself, I always have."

Steve's blue eyes took on a mixture of hurt and apology as he nodded and left the room, unwilling to agitate the injured man further.

"He hasn't left your side you know…he was blaming himself for not getting there in time." Tony supplied helpfully. Clint ignored him, and, with one arm wrapped around his ribs, he slid off the bed. The injured archer shuffled over to Natasha's bed and sank down into a chair next to her.

"Thanks for helping her." Clint murmured, his eyes glued to the heart monitor next to her head. He was surprised his early bout of temper hadn't roused her. She must be medicated.

"Yeah well…" Tony shifted uncomfortably. The archer was looking at the sleeping assassin like he looked at Pepper. He hadn't realized.

"She's okay?" There was an unfamiliar note of vulnerability in the man's voice and it itself was surprising. Tony just blinked for a second.

"Yeah, she'll be fine. Lost some blood, but they gave her new stuff." Tony assured, then he paused. "Stars and Stripes was just doing what he always does…put the team first…he didn't mean to let you down…can you honestly say you could have held on? Or pulled yourself up?" He challenged.

Clint looked down. His fingers had been losing feeling when Steve had pulled the window open. He had been mentally locking his fingers into place, knowing he'd have to figure something out quick or he'd be mush on the concrete. He'd been zeroed in on Williams though, with the same focus he would get when SHIELD sent him out on hits. Nothing else had mattered.

"Would you have taken the chance if it had been one of us on that ledge?" Tony asked.

Clint swallowed. He looked at Natasha. He would have taken that bullet for her in a heartbeat, without a thought. He knew without thinking on it too long, that he would have done the same for any of them. It was how he was wired. The ledge was just a different type of bullet. He sighed. Looks like he owed their good Captain an apology.

"That's what I thought." Tony nodded. He turned only to turn back a moment later. "You should go back to bed, you look even worse than usual, which I know is a hard feat to accomplish."

Clint huffed a laugh as Tony left the room. He felt about that bad. But he had something to do first. He painfully pushed himself from the chair and tenderly brushed Natasha's fiery hair off her forehead.

"I'll be back." He whispered before heading for the door.

* * *

He found Steve on the roof, staring out of the city.

"You're standing in my spot." Clint's voice came out a little more strained than he wanted, but the trek up to the roof had been more taxing than he expected.

Steve's head swiveled comically, his blue eyes wide. His jaw was a hanging open a little as Clint came to stand next to him. The injured archer had struggled, quiet painfully, into a hooded sweatshirt. He still looked terrible, pale, bruised and stiff, but Steve was glad he couldn't see the black and purple bruises on his chest.

"So I may not have said it before…but, uh, thanks…for pulling me up."

Steve glanced at Clint out of the corner of his eye at the mumbled thanks.

The archer had his hands shoved in the pocket of the hoodie; his blue grey eyes scanned the skyline restlessly, always on guard, always looking for threats. Steve didn't want to know what it was like to live with that kind of paranoia.

"I'm sorry I let you down and let Williams get away."

Clint sighed deeply, wincing when his ribs twinged painfully.

"Don't apologize." He nearly groaned out. "It makes it worse."

"I don't understand." Steve admitted.

"I was wrong to get angry at you…what you did…the choice you had to make…" Clint shook his head, frustrated. He wasn't good with talking about things, any things. "As much as it pisses me off, I would have made the same call." Clint admitted with a frustrated sigh. He pulled his left hand out of his hoodie and rubbed it down his face, mindful of the colorful bruises Cole's fist had left. "I'm an assassin, Rogers, as such I have this way of getting very  _very_ focused…when Natasha went down, I zeroed in and nothing else mattered." He explained as best he could.

"You love her, don't you?" Steve guessed quietly. He was surprised when Clint huffed a laugh, looking up to the stars.

"Cap, love is for children…" He told him, he glanced at him briefly before looking back to the city, "The thing between me and Tasha is  _so_  much more than some romantic notion."

"I don't understand." Steve admitted. He'd never been good with anything to do with women.

"I don't know how to explain it, Cap." Clint shrugged. "It just is…she will always come first for me,  _always_."

"That must be an amazing thing to have in your life."

"Sometimes…" Clint smiled slightly, "Sometimes it almost gets us killed."

"Like with Williams?"

"Like with Williams." Clint nodded. He sighed suddenly. "Anyway, I'm sorry for being an ass."

"Don't worry about it." Steve forgave easily.

"You're alright, Cap." Clint clapped him on the shoulder and turned to leave. Steve watched him go. That was the first time Clint had ever initiated a conversation with any of them. And beyond that, Clint had granted him an insight into his psyche, as penance for his attitude perhaps. Steve realized bemusedly, the kid was terrifying, dark, and broody, but he was also man enough to admit when he'd been wrong, was so dedicated to Natasha it wasn't even funny, and was made of steel inside. Because only a man made of steel could endure what Clint's file suggested he had, and still stand there, his shoulders straight and his head high, ready to keep fighting the good fight.

What was sad, is that he didn't think Clint realized that.

* * *

When Natasha woke again, there was a heavy weight on her arm. The pain in her shoulder was muted by painkillers, a feeling she hated. Her eyelids felt heavy as she forced them open. The first things she saw was short, messy brownish blonde hair resting on her arm.  _Clint._  He was okay. When she'd been awake last, he'd still been unconscious. She carefully pulled her hand out from under his head, resting it on his hair instead. He must be medicated as well, because usually the slightest touch woke him.

"Клинт." She called softly, unconsciously speaking his name in Russian, tracing her fingers through his hair.

He stirred instantly, his head rising and his blue grey eyes turning to seek her out.

"Наташа." He breathed her name in the same language, relief evident in every part of his expression.

"Именно плечо раны... Вы посмотрите, как я был на пороге смерти." She teased, concern niggling at her when he winced in pain just from sitting up straight.  _It was just a shoulder wound…you look like I was at death's door._

"Это было давно пару дней ... это просто приятно слышать ваш голос. ( _It's been a long couple days…it's just good to hear your voice)_." He admitted quietly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

"Looks like you should be in your own bed,  _resting_." Natasha scolded switching back to English and easing herself into a sitting position.

"This is the only way I can keep them from sticking another IV in me…I'm still trying to get the  _last_  round of drugs out of my system." He complained good naturedly.

"I know the feeling." Natasha smirked, already pulling the IV out of her hand.

"Wanna blow this joint? I know a place with a much more comfortable bed, a lot less white, and no IVs to be seen." Clint pushed himself out of his chair and held a hand out to her.

"Sounds good to be, Barton…lead the way." She smiled warmly, allowing him to help her out of bed. Together they made their way to the elevator, and to Natasha's room, out of the view of their watchful teammates. Most of their lives they'd recovered from injury in private, and over their years of partnership they'd grown accustomed to licking their wounds in each other's company when the opportunity presented itself. Since they both tended to underrate their injuries, it was better to have someone else around anyways.

* * *

Steve watched them go from the hallway, a small smile on his lips. He should probably stop them, put them both back in the infirmary beds and shove the IV in their arms himself. But he didn't. Something told him both would recover better if left in peace. So instead he let them go. He physically stopped Tony on many occasions from harassing them, and insisted to Bruce that if they needed medical help they would surely seek it out. Though he wasn't  _exactly_  sure that was the truth. And Steve, he just watched, shamelessly using Jarvis to spy, and waited. Occasionally he would find them on the roof, for Clint's benefit he was sure, whispering quietly to each other in a language Steve didn't understand but that Jarvis informed him was Russian.

* * *

Two weeks passed like that with no word from Cole Williams and only a few skirmishes with local thugs that Tony and Steve handled themselves. Then something happened that shocked them all. Thor returned. He had surprised them all by landing on the roof during a thunderstorm and waltzing into Stark towers like he hadn't been gone.

"Greetings, my earth dwelling friends!" The Asgardian god's booming voice echoed through the lab where Steve was pretending to listen to Bruce and Tony's conversation on a special material they were creating to build Clint an unbreakable bow. An idea Steve thought truly touching if they could ever agree on anything about it.

Steve turned abruptly, his blue eyes widening at the sight of the large hammer wielding warrior.

"Thor!" He greeted with a smile, accepting the bone crushing hug and grateful his bones wouldn't in fact break easily.

"America's Captain, Steve Rogers! It does my heart well to see you once again!" Thor smiled widely. "Man of Iron! How do you fare?" Thor looked to Tony, who had automatically put a table between them to avoid the same hug Steve had allowed.

"Been good…feeling good…why are you here?" Tony asked abruptly, "and  _how_?"

"My father Odin was able to allow me transport to your realm with the use of the tesseract…I need only to call to him when I am ready to return." Thor explained turning his attention to Bruce.

"Bruce Banner! I trust you are as well in good health!"

"Yeah…pretty good." Bruce nodded slowly.

"So now that we've established the how, let's address the why?" Tony interjected again.

"Where is the man with the eye of the hawk? And the Widow in Black?"

"Clint and Natasha got injured a couple weeks back and are still recovering." Steve explained.

"My Gatekeeper told me of your plight and hence my quest to join you here. I will aid our friend the Hawk in this fight in any way I can." Thor explained.

"It's not so much a fight as a personal vendetta between this crazy ex-military sniper and our resident Big Bird." Tony replied easily. "And Legolas doesn't want our help."

Thor looked crestfallen so Steve quickly spoke up.

"But we'll be there to give it anyway; if he needs it..."

Thor brightened at that.

"This thing with Williams is personal, though...in the end I think it will need to be Clint that ends it, not any of us." Steve added firmly. "When the time comes we can't interfere, understand?" He directed, meeting each of their eyes. They all nodded somewhat reluctantly.

All their attention was diverted when Jarvis announced Clint and Natasha were headed to the lab.

"Now Thor, Natasha was shot and Clint has five broken ribs so better not to try and hug them, or pat their shoulder, or…you know it's just better not to touch them." Bruce advised quickly as the two assassins came into view.

"We heard a loud booming voice and knew there could be only one cause." Natasha shot Thor a small smile. "Figured it was about time we joined the party." Clint stepped up to her side, looking more rested than he had in months.

"I wondered what all the thunder was about…what's up Shakespeare." He greeted the Asgardian with something resembling actual warmth.

Steve looked around at his team, whole once again, and smiled. As far as he was concerned, Cole Williams didn't stand a chance in hell.

* * *

Thor inched closer to the edge of the roof, eyeing the archer's position warily. Natasha eyed him suspiciously, and he struggled to communicate his intentions without speaking. After a moment she nodded, whispered something to Clint in a language that was foreign to him. After the Hawk nodded, Natasha stood and strode to the door.

"What's up Big Guy?" Clint motioned him to join him on the ledge.

"Would you mind if we continued this conversation on a perch of a less precarious nature?" Thor questioned, eyeing the ledge nervously. Clint shrugged and swung his legs back around so they weren't dangling in open air anymore, he pushed to his feet and stood to face the Asgardian god.

"Better?"

"Much." Thor acknowledged, stepping to stand next to him. Together they looked over the city.

"Why'd you come back?" Clint asked suddenly, "Not that we aren't glad to see you...but the timing is  _interesting_." Clint cocked his eyebrow suspiciously.

"The Gatekeeper of my realm told me of this Cole Williams who threatens you." Thor explained. "I have come to help in any way I can."

"Not sure there's anything you can do, Big Guy." Cling sighed, "Williams is doing this because of me...I need to be the one to finish him."

"As you know, my friend, I am well versed in the arts of war." Thor started, he deep voice rumbling.

"I gathered." Clint agreed, eyeing the cape and armor with an arched eyebrow. Thor went on, unaware of the scrutiny.

"In all my years of battle, I have learned many things...but there has been one lesson that I learned quite well...and not without difficulty."

Clint cursed his curiosity, it always got the better of him.

"What lesson is that?" He asked after a moment.

"That if one man chooses to face an enemy and leaves his army behind, he is considered brave, but foolish...however, if the same man faces that enemy with his army marching behind him, he is considered not only brave, but wise as well. For only a foolish man in search of glory would face an enemy alone, when he has his trusted men waiting to join him."

"You think I want glory?" Clint scoffed.

"No, my friend...I believe you fear for your army's safety and so you seek to face this enemy alone...but you are not alone, my friend. And your army is not afraid."

"Yeah, I know." Clint sighed. "But this is personal, Thor...I have to face him, once and for all."

"I am no stranger to the nature of personal battles...as you remember Loki was by brother and he attacked this realm because  _I_  loved it."

"And in the end, you got to deal with him,  _your_  way..."

"Yes, indeed that is true." Thor sighed. "I will not interfere, Clint Barton, but neither will I allow your life to be needlessly taken...will this suffice?"

"Do I have a choice?" Clint smirked, unwilling to admit he was warmed by Thor's loyalty.

"No." Thor smiled widely and turned to go, only to pause. "I love my brother, Clint Barton...and I always will...but what he did to you... _that_  is a deed that can never be forgiven. I am truly sorry for what my kind has brought upon you." He apologized quietly.

"I don't blame you, Thor, or your kind...I only blame Loki."

"Only?" Thor asked doubtfully, his bright blue eyes all too knowing. Clint swallowed.

"I'm getting there."

Thor tilted his head in assent.

"You're heart holds a strength you do not even realize, my friend...if there were more warriors with your noble nature, this realm would not be cloaked in such darkness." Thor praised, squeezing Clint's shoulder with surprising gentleness before leaving him alone. They all underestimated Thor, Clint realized. The big man saw more than any of them realized.

* * *

"We figured since you broke your original…and the backup…that you needed a worthy replacement." Tony shrugged, "This one should be able to survive even your rather peculiar method of looking after things."

Clint gave him sideways look for the comment, watching his new bow unfold from its compacted position.

"Sixteen stories broke the first one, and bullet broke the second one…not my fault."

"Tomato, potato…" Tony misquoted, waving his hand dismissively. "This one should be able to hold up…give it a try."

Clint rolled his eyes, pulling the bow into position and testing the string. His still healing ribs ached as he pulled the string back to his cheek.

"It works better with an arrow." Tony interjected helpfully.

"Stark…shut up." Clint growled, easing the string back to its natural position. He pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back and notched it, pulling the string back slowly, learning the feeling of the bow flexing in his hand. The look was nearly identical to his original bow. It was crafted to be collapsible, easier to transport. Unfolded, it had a hint of the elegant traditional look of a long bow. But even as he pulled back, he could feel more power in this one than in its predecessors. It would shoot farther and harder than his old model. The material this one was made of seemed different too. It was light but sturdy; it felt good in his hand, like the grip was molded to fit him perfectly. Stark had done well. He hadn't been the leading weapons manufacturer for nothing.

Tony watched the younger man stand like a statue, the bow string pulled back, but not yet released. He looked like a modern day Robin Hood. Then quite suddenly the arrow was loosed. Before it had even gotten half the distance to the target, Clint had another notched and following it. He kept firing with the same nearly supernatural speed until his quiver was empty. Only then did he lower the bow and toss Tony a smile.

"String tension is a little off…but I can fix that." He smirked and walked out of the room, his new bow tucked under his arm.

"That string tension was perfect." Tony muttered to himself, leaning to see the target. He laughed. "You're welcome." He stated to no one, heading out the same way Clint had. He left behind a target full of arrows perfectly spelling out three simple letters.

THX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Chapter 7
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comment if you like :)
> 
> Here's your preview of Chapter 8:
> 
> His cell phone ringing broke the silence of the night so sharply; Clint thought it was sure to wake the whole tower. He arched his eyebrow at the blocked number, and slid his thumb across the touch screen to answer.
> 
> "Barton." He greeted.
> 
> "Hello, Clint."
> 
> "Williams."


	8. I'm More Than A Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except for Cole Williams. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
> 
> And here is Chapter 8 - only two chapters left after this :) Then I'll start posting my NEXT story lol
> 
> Enjoy

_The hero is one who kindles a great light in the world, who sets up blazing torches in the dark streets of life for men to see by._

**_Felix Adler_ **

* * *

It was late when Bruce ventured into the briefing room. He wanted to do some research on Williams, maybe look into his history in military prison. He needed to do something, anything, to escape the awful waiting game they were all trapped in.

He didn't notice anyone else in the room until he was already through the door. He froze, staring at Clint's back, trying to decide if he should leave or stay. Then he notice what was playing across the screens Clint was staring at.

The archer's infiltration of the helicarrier.

He watched as Clint watched for several minutes. He jumped when the archer addressed him.

"They look at me like I'm going to snap and start shooting people now."

Bruce didn't have to ask who he was talking about. They'd all noticed Clint had barely stepped foot in the SHIELD base for the past five months. When Fury had a mission the two assassins, he contacted them at the tower.

"It's a natural human response." Bruce pointed out, taking the conversation as permission to come closer.

"But none of you do, why?" Barton demanded.

"Maybe it's because we had personal contact with Loki most of them didn't…we understand better than they could what happened to you."

Bruce glanced at the screen when Clint paused it suddenly. It was focused on his face and his ice blue eyes as he shot an arrow through the throat of a fellow SHIELD agent.

"I thought you'd gotten passed this, Barton..." Bruce hedged carefully. There had been marked improvment in Clint's attitude. He'd been doing so much better since the package from Coulson.

"I had...I  _am_...I just..." Clint sighed, staring at his own face on the screen. "I  _know_  it was Loki...I know it in my head, but...I remember all of it…how can I claim it was out of my control if I remember everything I did?"

Bruce remained silent thinking. He rarely remembered much when he "hulked out" as the team had come to call it. Even then all he remembered were the green monster's feelings, usually anger, as he fought. Bruce straightened. That was it. He finally knew how to help.

"So you remember everything you did?" He asked for clarification.

Clint nodded once.

"Do you remember how you felt?"

Clint turned to stare at him.

"What?"

"How you felt…when you did all those things…what were you feeling? Anger? Hatred? Joy? Regret?"

"Nothing…I didn't feel anything…" Clint answered, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What are you getting at Banner?"

"When you are  _you_  and you shoot someone…what do you feel?"

"Depends on why I'm shooting them." Clint arched an eyebrow.

"Fair enough…say you're on a mission, an assignment to eliminate a threat…"

"Assassination…just call it what it is, Doc." Clint smirked a little. It amused him how they all danced around what he and Natasha did.

"Fine…what do you feel when you take out the target?"

"Accomplishment."

"What else?"

"Nothing else…"

"Come on, Barton, you're not a robot, you  _feel_  something every time you kill, now what is it?"

"Nothing." Clint denied, his expression hardening by the moment.

"Stop lying." Bruce snapped, his eyes flashing neon green for barely a second. Clint didn't even flinch. He stared at the doctor for a long moment, his grey blue eyes flinty.

"Anger."

"At who?"

"The target."

"Why?"

"For being evil."

"Good…now what about before SHIELD..."

"When I was a merc?" Clint sat back in his seat.

Bruce nodded.

"Anger." He said again.

"At the target?"

"No."

"The guy who hired you?"

"No." Clint knew he wasn't being helpful, but he didn't care.

"At who?" Bruce pressed, unwilling to stop now that he was finally making progress.

For several moments it didn't seem like Clint was going to keep cooperating. Then he did.

"Myself."

Bruce blinked, his own heart aching for the kid in front of him.

"Why?" He asked quietly.

"For being too weak to find another way."

"Another way to what?"

"Survive."

Bruce had to look away from that hard grey blue gaze. He cleared his throat.

"Don't ask the questions if you don't want the answers." Clint advised, his tone hard enough to shatter stone.

"Now what about the Army?"

"What about it?"

Bruce gave him an annoyed look and Clint sighed, knowing he was being difficult.

"Pride." He answered the unasked question.

"For what?"

"Doing my duty."

"Okay…and what about now? What about when you shoot as an Avenger?"

Clint blinked, some of the ice leaving his expression.

"Fear." He admitted quietly, his gaze growing distant.

"Of what?" Bruce asked, intrigued. It hadn't been the answer he'd expected.

"That one day I'll miss."

Bruce's breath caught in his throat. He'd never even considered the pressure the archer must be under, acting as their protector in the skies. To hear him say, if only by inference, that he held the weight of their lives every time he fired, was a little horrifying.

It was a talk for another day, though, so Bruce forced himself to stay focused.

"Now what about when you killed for Loki?"

Clint's gaze snapped back to awareness and zeroed in on him.

"I already told you."

"Right…you felt nothing…no fear, no anger, no pride…you felt nothing."

Clint stared at him and Bruce could see the comprehension dawning. He drove it home.

"If you were  _you_ , you would have felt  _something_ …but you didn't feel anything, Barton…it  _wasn't_ you. It was Loki."

He saw something break behind the stormy gaze.

"Those people at SHIELD can go to hell, because they can't ever even come close to understanding everything that happened with that situation. They don't matter, Barton." Bruce stated, standing to leave the archer in peace to process.

"Banner."

He turned back at the door. Clint had turned to look at him.

"Call me Clint."

"Only if you call me Bruce."

Clint's mouth turned up into a small, but genuine smile.

"I think I can handle that."

* * *

Bruce was slightly terrified when Natasha corned him on the way to breakfast the next morning.

"Only Natasha. No derivatives, only Clint gets to do that."

"What?" He gasped, still afraid he was about to be murdered.

"I don't know what you said to him, but nobody except Phil Coulson has ever been able to get through to him so effectively, not even me… _Thank you_." She stated the final words so fiercely that Bruce finally started to understand the intensity of the relationship between the two assassins.

"You're welcome." He replied sincerely.

"So…only Natasha, nothing else." She repeated before spinning away and continuing to breakfast. It took an extra moment for it to click. But when it did, he smiled.

* * *

When Steve entered the kitchen for breakfast, he couldn't help but smile bemusedly.

Clint was cooking.

Natasha was sitting on the counter next to him occasionally stealing tastes of what he was making. When Tony tried the same thing, he got threatened with a wicked looking kitchen knife. Bruce was reading a paper at the bar, drinking a glass of juice. Thor was watching in fascination as Clint flipped something high into the air off a pan and caught it again. Steve's eyes widened. He knew that smell.

"Are those pancakes?" He asked with a wide smile.

"And bacon." Bruce smiled, leaning around his paper to check the progress of his breakfast.

"You can cook?" Steve asked Clint in shock.

"He's an excellent cook." Natasha answered for him.

"He's been holding out on us." Tony grumbled. "Where does an assassin learn to cook anyways?"

"Madrid." Clint answered simply.

"Mission?" Steve asked.

Clint nodded, flipping a pancake high again and catching it flawlessly in the pan. He nodded to Natasha, who obediently used thongs to flip the bacon on the skillet next to her.

"I must say, Clint Barton, that I admire your ability to throw the cake of the pan so high and still catch it in that cooking device." Thor complemented seriously, laughing loudly and clapping his hands together when Clint did it again, almost like he was trying to please the Asgardian.

"How much longer?" Tony whined, trying to steal a piece of cooling bacon from the plate near Natasha. One glare from her sent him back several paces.

"It's ready." Clint announced, flipping the pancake up and catching it on a plate already stacked high, instead of the pan. They gathered around the table and immediately started serving themselves. Thor smiled in pleasure when he took his first bite.

"I like this cake of the pan! What do you call this brown sticky substance?" He asked, tipping the syrup bottle upside down as he inspected it. Tony quickly righted it before the contents could spill out.

"Syrup." Tony supplied.

"This is really good, Barton." Steve complimented genuinely. The archer shrugged one shoulder and kept his eyes on his plate.

"So, can we talk about the huge elephant in the room?" Tony questioned suddenly.

Thor's eyes widened and he jumped from his chair, searching the room and holding out his hand as if to call for something.

"Wait!" Steve jumped up. "There isn't  _actually_ anything in the room, Thor…it's an expression."

Thor looked annoyed.

"The people of your realm have the  _strangest_  way of speaking."

"This coming from Shakespeare in the park." Tony rolled his eyes. " _Anyway_ …it's been almost three weeks and not a word from Mr. Bell Tower…what the hell is he waiting for?"

Steve watched Clint pause for the briefest of moments before going back to spearing his food with his fork.

"Maybe he's waiting for another crisis, so we'll be distracted…like the robots and the wreck." Bruce offered logically.

"He created the situation with the robots." Clint interjected abruptly. They all stared at him. He shrugged going back to his food, "Why else would there be crosshairs on the breastplates?"

"Either way…you might be right." Steve agreed.

"So we just have to keep waiting for another disaster…awesome." Tony muttered. "I hate waiting."

"Trust me Tony, we know." Steve sighed.

* * *

Clint was wandering the halls at 2 am when it happened. Natasha was sleeping in his room and as far as he knew everyone else was tucked in as well. But something was eating at him. For once it wasn't anything to do with Loki. He felt antsy, and he never felt antsy. He was, by the nature of his profession, a very patient man. But tonight, sleep was evading him.

His cell phone ringing broke the silence of the night so sharply; Clint thought it was sure to wake the whole tower. He arched his eyebrow at the blocked number, and slid his thumb across the touch screen to answer.

"Barton." He greeted.

" _Hello, Clint."_

Clint's expression iced over, even though there was no one there to see. He turned to his left, facing the wall.

"Williams."

" _You know they say this is the city that never sleeps…makes sense now…there are so many people out and about at this time of night."_

"The point, Williams."

" _It's time to settle this."_

"No shit, asshole, I'm right here."

" _Time's Square…think you can here fast enough to stop me?"_

"You're not going to hurt anyone else." Clint stated it with such calm assurance, that Williams paused on his end of the phone.

" _Oh no?"_

"No."

" _Why's that?"_  Williams laughed.

"Because I'll kill you if you do."

" _You've tried that, and I put six bullets in your chest."_

"This time you won't get that opening."

" _We'll see…come alone."_

"Doesn't work that way anymore, Williams…I'm an Avenger, we work as a team."

" _Ha…you're no more an Avenger than I am…Come alone or the next bullet will be through your girlfriend's forehead not her shoulder."_

"That was a mistake, Williams."

" _How's that."_

"You just signed your death warrant…now I'm going to put an arrow through your heart."

Clint hung up before Williams could respond.

He stared at the wall, looking straight into Jarvis's camera. He shouldn't go alone. He shouldn't. Natasha would kick his ass if he did. Thor's advice from the rooftop floated through his head. O _nly a foolish man in search of glory would face an enemy alone, when he has his trusted men waiting to join him._ But if he waited, if he got the team up and waited to go after Williams, he knew without a doubt that people would die. He closed his eyes, thinking.

"Jarvis," He called out.

_"Yes, Agent Barton?"_

"I need your help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Chapter 8
> 
> Thanks for reading! I do love hearing what people think!
> 
> Here's your preview of Chapter 9:
> 
> "You spent 10 years in prison because you're insane." Clint countered, shifting silently in the shadows.
> 
> "Stop stalling, Barton! I know your close by!"
> 
> "Fine." Clint jumped, landing several feet behind Williams and tossing his blue tooth away. "I'm done talking anyway."


	9. Even Heroes Have the Right to Bleed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except for Cole Williams. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
> 
> Second to last chapter :) Enjoy!

_Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few._

**_Winston Churchill_ **

* * *

"What's going on?" Steve demanded, coming into the briefing room dressed in his uniform. He set his shield on a nearby chair. Natasha was pacing across the room, her expression murderous. They'd all been woken by Jarvis sounding an emergency alarm, instructing them to meet in the briefing room suited up and ready to go.

"Clint's gone. His bike, his bow, and his rifle." Natasha bit out, not stopping her feverish pacing.

"Williams?" Thor demanded as he and Bruce stormed into the room.

"Jarvis?" Tony questioned sharply. He had been the first to the room and was already suited up in his armor, sans the helmet.

_"Agent Barton received a phone call and left instructions for me to alert the entire team immediately."_

"Where is he?" Natasha demanded.

_"He was leaving as he gave his instructions. He seemed quite rushed, Agent Romanoff."_

"What were his instructions?" Steve demanded, sensing they were wasting valuable time.

_"He instructed me to show you the video and audio footage of the phone call he received and to instruct you all to follow him immediately."_

"Pull up the video." Tony snapped.

They waited in a tense silence for the video to start, and Natasha didn't stop pacing.

" _Barton."_

" _Hello, Clint."_

They watched Clint's expression go stony.

" _Williams."_

" _You know they say this is the city that never sleeps…makes sense now…there are so many people out and about at this time of night."_

" _The point, Williams."_

" _It's time to settle this."_

" _No shit, asshole, I'm right here."_

Natasha nearly growled at Clint's taunt.

" _Time's Square…think you can here fast enough to stop me?"_

" _You're not going to hurt anyone else."_

" _Oh no?"_

" _No."_

" _Why's that?"_

Williams laughed as he said it.

" _Because I'll kill you if you do."_

" _You've tried that, and I put six bullets in your chest."_

" _This time you won't get that opening."_

" _We'll see…come alone."_

" _Doesn't work that way anymore, Williams…I'm an Avenger, we work as a team."_

Steve smiled at that part, proud of Clint's claim.

" _Ha…you're no more an Avenger than I am…Come alone or the next bullet will be through your girlfriend's forehead not her shoulder."_

" _That was a mistake, Williams."_

" _How's that."_

" _You just signed your death warrant…now I'm going to put an arrow through your heart."_

A chill settled over the group at Clint's tone. They watched him hang up on any response Williams was going to make. He stared straight into the camera for a moment. Then he closed his eyes, obviously deliberating. Then the video cut off.

"How long ago did he leave?" Steve demanded already heading out of the room.

" _8 minutes."_  Jarvis supplied.

"Why didn't he wake us immediately? Why would he go alone, after  _everything?_ " Steve growled, frustrated that they were joining the game two steps behind.

"Williams was threatening to start killing...Clint wouldn't risk allowing that to happen...not if he could help it." Bruce explained quietly.

"Our friend did not seek to fight this battle alone." Thor announced knowingly, "He is trusting that we will follow with greatest speed."

"He left on his bike." Natasha added. "The way he drives, he got to Time's Square maybe 5 minutes ago."

"Then we better hurry." Tony pulled on his helmet and motioned Bruce towards him. "You take Stalin." He directed at Thor just before he took off with Bruce held tightly against him. Natasha stepped up to Thor and he easily wrapped an arm around her and followed. Steve had already taken off in a sprint, putting all his super soldier juices to good use.

* * *

_5 minutes ago…_

Clint pulled his bike to a stop two blocks away from Time's Square, next to a fire escape. He slipped the strap to his sniper case over his head and started climbing, level by level until he got to the roof. Then he made use of his parkour training and covered the two blocks to the square by rooftop. He landed from his leap onto the last building in a crouch. He moved stealthily to the edge of the roof, already swinging his rifle case off his shoulder. He had the weapon assembled and set in under a minute. Letting out a deep breath, he sighted down his custom built scope, courtesy of the SHIELD techs, and started searching. First he checked the vantage points he would have chosen. He spotted him on the third building he checked. He glanced at his watch. It had been less than 2 minutes since he parked his bike.

Williams was sighting down his own sniper rifle at the crowds in the Square. He watched the other sniper press a button on what looked like a blue tooth in his ear. A moment later, Clint's cell rang. He keyed on his own blue tooth.

"Barton."

" _Your time's up, kid…I've gotten bored. Time to have some fun."_

"What, no more threats? No more games?"

" _Maybe after I've downed this pretty little blonde with legs a mile long trying to hail a cab."_  Williams snickered.

Clint turned his rifle, and found the girl in seconds. He raised his rifle back towards Williams as he whizzed through the calculations in his head.

"You don't want to do that, Williams…don't start this…you won't like how it ends."

" _We'll see."_  Williams fired. Clint fired in nearly the same breath. He watched through his scope as the woman slid into a cab, unharmed.

" _What the hell…"_  Williams breathed.

"I'll always be better, Williams." Clint taunted.

" _Did you just shoot my bullet out of the air?"_  He actually sounded impressed.  _"Double or nothing you can't do it again."_

He watched Williams site, and fired, this time a fraction before his opponent did. Williams flinched when bullets collided less than a foot in front of him.

_"Very impressive...but you always were a lucky son of a bitch."_

Clint watched him carefully.

"I could do this all day." He forced his voice to remain relaxed as if this were no more stressful than target practice. He glanced at his watch. It had been six minutes since he parked.

_"So could I."_

Clint shot another bullet out of the air in front of Williams.

_"Son of a bitch!"_

"I've got you in my crosshairs, Williams." Clint growled, even as he used his scope to scan the crowds. While he could shoot bullets out of the air all day, the longer they played this game, the more he risked Williams discovering his position. Clint stiffened when he saw a familiar shock of bright red, white, and blue in the crowds. Well hidden in the masses, but there none the less, if he hadn't been looking,  _hoping_ , to see him, Clint would have missed it.

" _You just gonna shoot me? Not very sporting, Clint…and you were always all about being fair."_

"You wanna make it fair?" Clint asked as he continued to scan the crowds, he found Bruce and Tony next, hidden in an alley. "What do you suggest?" He asked, he found Thor near a bar just as Natasha lay down next to him on the roof. He muted his end of the blue tooth.

"Go," She said, "I'll cover the civilians until you get to him...I've already relayed Williams' location to the team and they're ready to protect the people on the ground."

Clint nodded as he quietly relinquished his his rifle to her and started moving.

"Clint!" She hissed, waiting for him to turn back, "Kick the bastard's ass." She smirked. He smirked back, un-muted his blue tooth and took off in a run, parkouring over the rooftops with silent ease.

" _Hand to hand…no more guns…winner takes all and loser accepts the defeat."_

"Last time we did that…you cheated." Clint countered, circling the square on the rooftops, closing in on Williams.

" _No guns…I swear…if I'm gonna go down, let me do it like a man. You owe me that much."_

"I don't owe you anything." Clint snapped not trusting the man for a second. He slipped bow off his back, setting it silently on the ground and moved into position. He couldn't risk the temptation to just shoot this son of a bitch.

" _I spent 10 years in prison because of you."_

"You spent 10 years in prison because you're a murdering psychopath." Clint countered, shifting silently in the shadows just above Williams' location.

" _Stop stalling, Barton..."_  Williams snapped, _"I know you're close by!"_

"Fine." Clint jumped, landing several feet behind Williams and tossing his blue tooth away. "I'm done talking anyway."

Williams spun, ripping the blue tooth out of his ear.

"You always were a sneaky little bastard weren't you…loved hiding in the shadows." Williams taunted, trying to cover how unsettled he was that Clint had closed in on him so quietly.

Clint stayed silent, for once in his life, in no mood for sarcastic banter. He was ready to put Williams down, for good. No one else was going to die because of this guy. He needed to keep him busy until the team got here...if he happened to accidentally off the bastard...oh well.

Williams caught the deadly gleam in his opponents eyes, recognized the set of his jaw. His mouth snapped shut and he dropped into his stance. Clint did the same. They circled. Clint, ready to put every single lesson Coulson had taught him to the test. Williams, itching to get the revenge he thought he deserved so fiercely.

When Williams came, Clint was ready. Williams was a flurry of motion, striking, kicking, spinning. Clint met him blow for blow, blocking, ducking, retreating. Williams snarled in fury when Clint slammed him with a left cross and danced out of reach.

"Stop fighting like a pussy, Barton!" He growled.

Clint's expression didn't break, didn't even twitch. He just held his stance like a he could do it all day, and waited.

"Where's that mouth you always had, Barton? Scared?" Williams taunted as he inched closer.

Clint blinked, adjusting his stance to match Williams' change in position.

Williams attacked, feigning a left jab and striking out with a right cross instead. He hit nothing but air as Clint ducked and slammed his fist into William's right side ribs. Before he could spin out of reach, Williams' brought his elbow back, catching him across the temple. He rolled with the blow, blinking away the stars and bringing his arms up to block the spin kick aimed at his head. He felt blood trickle down his face and resisted the urge to wipe it away. Williams moved at him again. Clint caught the side kick against his ribs, absorbing the blow and using his body weight to twist and spin to the ground. He heard a satisfying crack as the knee dislocated. Williams screamed and reached for something hidden under his TAC vest. Clint saw the blade too late and tried to roll away. The combat knife caught him across the side of his stomach, and cut right through his uniform. He pressed his hand to the wound as he lay on his back his quiver digging into his spine, watching through the corner of his eye as Williams stumbled to his feet, dragging his now useless leg with him.

"Never said we couldn't use knives." Williams grinned maniacally.

Clint took a deep breath, braced his hands on either side of his head, and tucked his knees to chest, coiling his body like a spring. He exploded in the next moment, springing off the ground and landing lightly on his feet.

"You're right, Williams...let's use knives." Clint grinned himself now, predatorily, as he reached back and pulled his two favorite knives from their sheaths at his back. One was Hungarian made, serrated and wicked, a gift from Natasha after Budapest. The other was off a gun runner in South Africa, a gift from Coulson to celebrate 5 years of working together. He spun them expertly in his hands, a blade as comfortable in his hand as his bow. A knife was the first thing he'd ever done target practice with.

Williams' jaw twitched and he looked at his one knife.

"Oh wait…you wanted  _fair_." Clint growled mockingly. He slid Coulson's blade back into its sheath and tossed Natasha's to his left hand.

This time Clint moved first. He dropped, to sweep Williams' feet, trying to knock him off balance and succeeding. He sprang back up and with an open right hand, slammed his palm into Williams' hand where he held the knife with enough force to knock the blade away and send it sliding out of view. Williams' spun impressively around him, considering one of his knees was destroyed. Clint realized his mistake when he felt Coulson's blade slide free of its sheath. He turned knocking the blade away at the same time Williams' was able to do the same to him. They were both weaponless once again.

He wrapped one of William's arms in an arm bar, and before the other man could do anything he hyper extended his elbow and dislocated it then he slammed his fist into his nose. Williams, adrenaline masking the pain, brought his closed fist into Clint's injured side. He couldn't help but double over. A knee slammed into his nose and sent him onto his back. He spun his body as soon as he hit the ground, sweeping Williams' legs and sending him crashing down as well. He rolled into a backwards somersault, coming to his feet, more unsteadily than he would have like. He blinked away his blurred vision and watched Williams struggle to rise. He stalked closer and brought his boot into the man's face, sending him onto his back again. He ripped an arrow out of his quiver and brandished it like a spear as he straddled Williams.

"I gotta give it to you, kid, you're good."

Clint's eyes narrowed in suspicion, the back of his neck tingling in warning. He could hear Tony's boosters in the distance. Natasha must have told them it was almost over.

"But I'm better."

The small, hidden knife sliced through his uniform and buried itself deep in his back an inch to the right of his spine. Clint couldn't stop the scream of pain that tore from his throat. He stumbled back, the arrow clattering to the ground. But Williams grabbed his arm, yanking hard and twisting his shoulder out of socket. Clint gasped, scrambling away and struggling to his feet. That was his left arm. His  _shooting_  arm.

Williams laughed and struggled to sit up as he watched Clint rip the knife out of his back and stare at it angrily, his left arm hanging limply at his side. His laughter stopped when Clint flipped the knife, gripping the bloody blade between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes widened when he realized what was about to happen.

"Barton!" Tony yelled as he reached the rooftop, landing in a jog and sliding his face mask up. Thor landed next to him a moment later. Neither understanding how the situation had deteriorated so quickly from what Natasha had relayed to them just moments ago.

Clint didn't even acknowledge them. He weighed the blade between his fingers before tossing it away. Tony's brow furrowed in confusion for only a moment and then faster than his eye could follow Clint was whipping an arrow out of his quiver and throwing it at Williams.

The former soldier cried out as the arrow pierced his shoulder. Clint was on him in a second, cruelly forcing the arrow deeper.

"Aim a little off, Hawk?" Williams gasped. "You promised it'd be through my heart."

"Trust me, Williams…I hit exactly where I meant to…" Clint paused coughing, he ignored the taste of blood in his mouth, "as much as I want to kill you myself, the idea of you rotting away in military prison for the rest of your life is  _so_  much more appealing."

"You've gone soft." Williams spat. Clint smirked as if the accusation was funny, ignoring the blood that dripped from his mouth onto Williams' chest.

"No, Williams…I'm just not like  _you_." He hissed before leaning closer, "And now you get to spend every day of the rest of your life thinking about this moment…and how  _I beat you_ …and  _me_...I won't give you another thought."

Williams' eyes clouded in offense and Clint smirked.

He stood and stepped back turning towards a wide eyed Tony and Thor. A moment later Natasha leapt onto the rooftop, his rifle encased across her back. Steve and Bruce scrambled over the edge of the fire escape in the next breath. He stared at them, his team, feeling his adrenline surging out of his system faster than it had come in. Breathing was suddenly difficult.

"I couldn't wait." He defended himself, coughing slightly and sending more blood into his mouth.

"We know." Steve assured, taking a hesitant step forward. "You did good, Hawk. No one was hurt."

The archer's eyes suddenly darkened as pain spasmed through his body; something was wrong, he could feel it. His gaze sought out Natasha's frantically.

"Tasha." Clint whispered it faintly, coughing wetly, blood spraying out of his mouth. He took an unsteady step towards her, but then coughed again.

"Clint!" She called in panic, moving forward as he listed to the side, crashing heavily to the ground where he laid unmoving, eyes closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Chapter 9
> 
> Thanks for reading! Only one more chapter to go :) Then I'll start posting my next story :)
> 
> Here's your preview of Chapter 10:
> 
> "He would never leave you, not unless he didn't have a choice."
> 
> "And what if Williams took that choice away?" She challenged.
> 
> "Well you know Clint better than me, Romanoff…does he ever let anyone make him do something he doesn't want to do?" Steve asked before standing and leaving her alone again.
> 
> Natasha blinked, a weak smile tugging at her lips.


	10. You Can All Sleep Sound Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters in the story except for Cole Williams. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
> 
> Thank you so much to those who read and especially thanks to those who commented :) I'll start posting my second story tomorrow :)
> 
> By the way, I use song lyrics for my chapter titles. This story used "Superman" by Five for Fighting  
> Enjoy the final Chapter

_We do not have to become heroes overnight. Just a step at a time, meeting each thing that comes up…discovering we have the strength to stare it down._

**_Eleanor Roosevelt_ **

* * *

Natasha was on her knees a split second later.

"Someone, help me!"

Already, her hands were running over Clint's body, trying to find the source of all the blood. She barely even noticed when Bruce dropped into a crouch on Clint's other side to mirror her movements, and made only a mental note when Steve hollered for an emergency medical evacuation. She also caught Tony moving out of the corner of her eye, taking it upon himself to make sure Williams was unconscious before he hovered over Clint's too-still form with Thor, unsure how to help as Clint's unconscious body coughed, blood bubbling at his lips.

The helicopter was there in less than 10 minutes.

When they touched down, Natasha and Steve were frantically doing CPR and there was a slick, scarily large pool of blood surrounding them. The SHIELD medics tried to push her away but she fought like a woman possessed, refusing to leave Clint's side.

Thor finally wrapped his strong arms around her and bodily lifted her away as the medics went to work on their patient. The team huddled together, watching as they hooked up AED pads to Clint's chest after cutting away his uniform. A cry of anger ripped from Natasha's throat when the machine didn't deliver a shock.

" _No shockable rhythm. Continue CPR."_  The machine spoke, but it was the medics who answered. There was a flurry of activity, and suddenly, Tasha had to quiet moving just so she could watch.

Watch the medics do CPR. Watch them breathe for Clint. Watch them stop suddenly, and then stick a needle in his chest, and pull back the plunger. It filled lazily with blood.

"Got a pulse! Let's get him on the chopper. We'll stabilize him on the flight back." Natasha couldn't believe the calm in the man's voice. It made her want to strangle him, as if not sharing her passion would bar him from saving Clint.

"I'm coming!" Her voice was a snarl, daring anyone to argue.

"Romanoff, there isn't room." The medic didn't argue, just spoke calmly, clearly unintimidated. "You'll get in the way, and we need space to work if we're gonna save him."

"But…"

"Natasha." Bruce's voice pulled her attention away. "Let them do their job. Clint won't leave you without a fight, you know that."

The medic took her lack of response as permission to leave and he ran for the chopper, climbing in next to the stretcher Clint was strapped to.

The team watched silently as the helicopter sped away into the night.

Steve looked over the edge of the roof at the oblivious civilians in Times Square.

"They have no idea what he just did for them." Steve's voice echoed softly, more than a hint of awe evident as he eyed the abandoned sniper rifle positioned on the roof.

"Clint Barton is a true hero." Thor agreed. "He would surpass even the greatest on Asgard."

"I've never seen anything like it." Even Tony seemed quiet, his usually hyper persona nowhere to be seen.

Bruce nodded silently, glancing over his shoulder at Natasha, who was retrieving something off the ground. She stopped on her way back to them, crouched, and picked up something else. His eyebrows shot up when he saw the two terrifying knives in her slightly trembling hands.

"Clint's." She clipped out the one word, her voice blank.

"You'll get to give them back to him." The assurance in Steve's voice was clear, but she didn't answer. All she did was stalk away, stopping at the building's fire escape and standing there with her back to them.

After a few moments, it was Stark who broke the silence.

"I saw Clint's gear on the next rooftop. I'll me damned if I let him ruin another bow." Tony cleared his throat, then with the thrusters cutting into the night, flew off to retrieve the bow. The rest of the team slowly left the rooftop, Steve contacting SHIELD to find out where they were taking Barton.

* * *

The disheveled group sat in the infirmary waiting room on the helicarrier, no one speaking. It had been six hours since they'd arrived and all they'd been told was Clint was still in surgery, they'd only gotten snatches of the doctor's frantic shouts before Clint had been whisked out of the emergency quadrant and into surgery. Phrases like "punctured lung", "bleeding out", and "low oxygen" haunted them as they waited.

Natasha was huddled in a corner, her knees drawn up to her chest and her chin resting on them. She stared blankly ahead, her gaze distant.

Bruce leaned against the window, staring out into the stormy sky. It was raining. He thought it was fitting.

Tony was sitting silently next to Pepper, her hand clutched tightly in his. Her eyes were red from crying.

Thor was staring pensively at the doors separating them from Clint, as if he could will them to open. His hammer forgotten in the seat next to him.

Finally, Steve forced himself up from his seat and sat carefully next to Natasha.

"He loves you, you know," he whispered, his voice low and calm.

"Love is for children." The response was immediate, blank, seemingly more out of habit than any real attempt to respond. Steve smiled sadly.

"That's what he said."

Her eyes cut over to regard him, focusing for the first time in hours.

"He said what you two had went way beyond that."

Her eyes welled as he spoke.

"He would  _never_  leave you, not unless he didn't have a choice."

"And what if Williams took that choice away?" There had been too many choices taken from them lately, something she and Clint knew far too well.

"Well you know Barton better than me, Romanoff…does he ever let anyone make him do something he doesn't want to do?" he asked before standing and leaving her alone again.

Natasha blinked, a weak smile tugging at her lips.

_No he doesn't. Not even for me._

"Rogers." She called him back. He arched an eyebrow at her in question.

"Natasha," she stated simply. Steve smiled, nodding.

* * *

It took 14 days before Clint really proved Rogers right. He'd been off the ventilator for two days and the doctors had promised he would wake soon. Natasha was the only one there, the rest of the group having gone to get food. She was staring out the window blankly when he stirred.

"Tasha?"

Her head whipped around so fast her neck popped. She was at his side in a second, her hand in his sandy hair, brushing it off his too-warm forehead as she watched his eyes drift closed before she could see them.

"Clint?" Her voice was a whisper, but she silently begged him to show her his stormy blue eyes. As if hearing her silent plea, his eyes blinked open in the next moment.

"Hey," he rasped weakly.

"Hey," she nearly sobbed, leaning forward to press a desperate kiss to his lips. She pulled back and curled her body around him, burying her nose in his neck. She was holding him like he might disappear.

"Hey, I'm okay." He tried to assure her, but it wasn't very convincing when he sounded as weak as kitten.

She pulled back, her eyes suddenly hard.

"мудак!" She spat the nasty Russian term at him.

And then she hit him  _hard_  in his unwounded shoulder. He wasn't as surprised as he should have been. She always got pissed when he scared her.

"You died," she revealed abruptly, staring into his eyes angrily. "For four minutes you were gone."

"You think I'd leave you that easily?" he challenged softly.

As quickly as her anger had appeared, it dissipated. She blinked and salty tears spilled out of her eyes.

"Don't ever do that again," she instructed firmly, a tremble in her voice that Clint knew no one but him would have been able to hear.

Clint winced as he did it, but he brought his right hand up to wipe the tears away.

"Tasha, I can't make that promise any more than you could in Dubai last year," he chided gently.

She huffed a laugh, recognizing the hypocrisy of her request.

"I can promise not to leave without a hell of a fight, though," he added, his tired eyes sincere. "Is that enough?"

She nodded, willing her tears away as he tugged her down to snuggle into his side. She was the Black Widow, she didn't cry unless it was to manipulate. But, six long years ago an assassin named Clint Barton had been sent to kill her. He made a different call. And three years later, he had wormed his way through her defenses. Now he was a part of her. He had a grip on her very soul, and with him there was no Black Widow, there was just Natasha. And Natasha couldn't lose her Hawk.

* * *

Clint didn't think it should be so sunny. He stood, staring at the headstone of the man who had changed his life. He thought at least some clouds would be fitting.

_Phillip Coulson_

_1973-2012_

_He served his country._

He shifted, adjusting the sling his left arm was immobilized in. He absently rubbed his finger across the stitches on his temple. He cocked his head, regarding the stone as if he expected it to come to life.

"Natasha is threatening to tie you to your bed," Steve announced as he came to stand next to him.

"I bet she is." Clint smiled slightly.

Steve looked at the stone with him.

"Tell me about him?" Steve asked quietly.

"What?"

"I didn't get to know him. You knew him better than anyone…so, tell me about him."

Clint was quiet for a moment, deciding where to start.

"I was 18 when he recruited me. I was working a contract for some nasty Hungarians. I had bad intel. Got hurt. Coulson cornered me in an alley."

"Doesn't seem like a good way to recruit you," Steve mused. Clint laughed a little.

"No. It was like backing a wounded animal into a corner. I don't think he expected me to fight back quite so fiercely, but he subdued me eventually. Then he did what I still think is one of the stupidest things he ever did. He let me go. I could have killed him right then and walked away, but there was  _something_  about him. So instead I asked him what the hell he wanted.

"He told me who he was and who he worked for and offered me the job. After my training, he became my handler."

"Something tells me you made things interesting."

"You got that right. I didn't like following protocol. I'd had enough of that in the Army. I liked doing things my way, he liked doing things his. But for some reason the man put up with me and eventually we found common ground. Don't get me wrong…there were some times when he threw protocol to the wind without a second thought and pulled my ass out of some very hot fires, but I tried to keep him out of that position. Though it happened a few more times than  _he_  thought it should."

Steve watched a wistful smirk light Clint's face.

"I trusted him more than anyone, Steve…" Clint admitted sadly. He blamed the pain meds they had him on, or maybe it was that of everyone, he knew the Captain would understand, and he desperately needed someone to understand. Natasha was trying, but she and Coulson had shared something closer to a normal handler and agent relationship – more than that, but less than the bond Phil and Clint had shared. Brothers? Father and son? Clint couldn't define it, and didn't want to try. He only knew that he missed it,  _fiercely_.

Steve didn't look at him when he responded.

"His name was Bucky. We'd been friends since we were kids. I was the smallest kid on the block," Clint gave him a sideways look that he ignored with a small smile, "and he was like my brother. He always looked out for me no matter who it pissed off. Then he went off to war and I became _Captain America_ …"

Steve sighed sadly, remembering too clearly the distant past, hating that it felt like just yesterday.

"When I heard he'd been captured," he shook his head, "I was determined to save him. I was going to finally be the one saving  _him_ and I did, along with a lot of other good men. Together we took on Hydra, me, Bucky, and my team…and dammit if we didn't win in the end, but the cost was so high … almost too high…" He released a shaky breath and Clint remained stoic beside him, listening, "I trusted  _him_  more than anyone. For no other reason than he had always been there, and I knew he always would be…and then when it really counted, I couldn't save him."

"But you did." Clint's reply seemed to come out of nowhere. "When he was captured, you gave him what? Months he wouldn't have had."

"Yeah, I guess…" Steve sounded uncertain.

"If there's one thing I've learned about debts, it's that there aren't any between friends," Clint told him quietly. "It's not about owing each other or keeping score. It's just about doing your best to do your best all the time." Clint blinked, realizing he should be taking his own words to heart.

"Sounds like good advice," Steve mused, tossing him a sidelong look. Clint's lips quirked.

"Before I met Phil, all I did was keep score. I was a marksman, it's what I did. How many kills did I have? What was my best distance shot? How fast could I retire multiple targets? Everything had a measurement…every favor that I gave someone, meant they owed me one in return. It's just the way I had always lived…"

"Then you met Phil."

"Then I met Phil." Clint smiled fully now, remembering. "I never asked him for anything for over three months because I didn't want to owe him. But he was a sly son of a bitch…I would come back to my room after a rough mission and find a first aid kit, my safe houses all had roof access, I never got reported when I broke protocol…I finally confronted him about it, telling him to cut it out because I didn't like to owe people.

"He told me I didn't owe him a damned thing but to keep doing my best to do my best. That it was all I would ever owe him. First time he saved my life, I was ready to start a tally, but he just patted my shoulder and said he didn't do it so I'd owe him, he did it because I was his friend. I never kept score with him again."

"So you're saying...I shouldn't blame myself for Bucky?"

"I'm saying he wouldn't have held it against you."

"And neither would Coulson," Steve added meaningfully.

"Yeah, I'm starting to get that." Clint could almost smile.

"Thank you…for what you said, what you told me…I know it's hard for you…" Steve smiled a little.

"Because I'm a cold, emotionless assassin?"

"No! I didn't mean-" Steve turned quickly, stunned to see a smirk playing on the archer's lips.

"I  _do_  have a sense of humor…a pretty good one, actually." Clint chuckled a little laugh.

"I'll keep that in mind." Steve smiled.

Clint shifted a little wincing in pain.

"You should get some rest," the Captain suggested quietly.

"Yeah, probably…" Clint agreed but he didn't move.

They both stared at the headstone for a few silent moments.

"Tell me more."

Clint smiled and did. Maybe the sun was okay after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Vantage Point
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> My next story is titled "Trust" and here is the summary: 
> 
> When SHIELD assigns Clint a mission to take down a black market arms dealer in South Africa, Tony is hired as a "consultant" to join him. But when unexpected events lead to their capture, the two men must learn to work together if they're going to get out of South Africa alive.

**Author's Note:**

> That's the end of Chapter 1! Thanks for reading! I love getting comments - like seriously love it. I believe that hearing what readers think helps me grow as a writer. 
> 
> I like to leave readers with previews of what's to come so here is your preview of chapter 2:
> 
> Preview:
> 
> "God dammit!" Hawkeye shouted, ripping his night vision goggle from his face and squeezing his eyes closed.
> 
> "Hawkeye, status?" the Widow demanded over comms.
> 
> "Flash grenade, I can't fucking see!" He snapped, forcing his eyes open and blinking at the black sky, everything was just a compilation of dark blurs.


End file.
